


An Empty's Tale

by deepdownbelow (OperaGoose)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (Not main couple), Abuse, Alternate Universe - Book Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Handmaid's Tale Fusion, Breeding, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Fictional Religion & Theology, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Imprisonment, Infertility, Internalized Homophobia, Language Barrier, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mind Manipulation, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Traditional Family Structure, Other, Prophecies, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Slavery, Something Made Them Do It, don't tag things at 3am kids, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 57
Words: 96,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/deepdownbelow
Summary: A Handmaid's Tale AU.Infertility has decimated the population of Eos. Only Niflheim has survived and thrived, thanks to Besithia's experiments - the Empties.Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum has just married Lady Lunafreya Nox Flauret, with an Empty to ensure it is a fertile union.That Empty knew he could never be loved. He doesn't know things are different in Lucis...





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Like the source material, this piece very much strays the dub-con/non-con line due to obligatory sex work. If this is something that concerns you, please do not read. If you do proceed, it is at your own perogative.  
> Depending on your own interpretations and lines, some of this fic may be interpreted as rape, rather than the dubious consent as it was intended by the author. I humbly apologise, and have corrected AO3 warnings accordingly to forewarn people at the content they may experience.
> 
> 'Empty' characters are genetically modified in order to be fertile for Male Pregnancy, but I have chosen not to use the term 'intersex' in reference to their gender identities. All modifications are internal, similar to omegaverse, and the external resembles a traditionally 'male' genitalia. 
> 
> Please enjoy this mess. Someone take AUs away from me.

They used to be called Handmaids. When the First Wave had happened and Solheim had learned the women of their cities were infertile, it had been the rural women taken and trained to bear children. But there had been cases. Husbands leaving their respectable but barren wives for their Handmaids, families disintegrating under lecherousness. The kingdom of Niflheim would not stand to see the right way destroyed, and so Professor Besithia had come up with a solution. The Second Wave.

He engineered the Maid Type-casts, splicing his own DNA with a fertile Handmaid’s to create males who could bear children. Modified genetically to reach maturity rapidly, be receptive, and always fertile. Men could get no pleasure from other men, it was said, so the Maid Type-casts, or MTs, could be used only for breeding. Only gender-traitors could feel lust or romance towards other men, and they ought to be put to death, so it was the perfect solution. 

They came to be known as ‘Empties’. A mocking label to remind everyone that that’s all they were – without purpose, other than to be filled and used. Niflheim succeeded, through the abundance of Empties, in sustaining their population while other countries withered. Magnanimous, their king created an empire, annexing the neighbouring countries on the brink of extinction and spreading their wealth. 

N-1PO1387 was a first-production Empty, at a time where all the others at the facility were N-2PO models. He’d been part of an experimental procedure, a clone left to grow naturally in an orphanage while the rest of the Empties were genetically enhanced to age rapidly. A sort of control group, if he understood right. So he’d been raised with a name, amongst the rare ‘orphans’ who were unsuitable for adoption, or being raised to become future Handmaids. And that name was Prompto Argentum.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some edits, more details in the chapter end notes.

When they’d taken him in and given him his red clothes, he was commanded to forget he’d ever had a name. He was already marked and coded with a designation: N-1PO1387. At the training centre they called him Thirteen-eighty-seven. But that was now to be changed too.

“You must never forget your place,” one of the Aunts – he’d forgotten her name in spite of her having one – told him as they flew on the airship over lands he’d never gotten to see. “No matter what household you are given to, you will always be Other. You will belong to them, not among them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Honoured Aunt.” 

“You will belong to the woman of the house, for so long as you are placed there. You will be expected to perform any task you are assigned, without question or complaint,” the aunt continued to drone, over the noise of the engines. “It is an honour to be chosen for this base task. You _will_ demonstrate appropriate gratitude and humility at all times.” 

He stayed silent, and she seemed pleased at his perceived obedience. Really, he was swallowing down his anger. He knew all this, had it shoved down his throat every minute of every day since he was sixteen years old. 

Sixteen. Dragged out of the valley orphanage he called home to serve his birthright. Four years hadn’t been enough to rewrite a life of thinking he was something more. Something... human. 

He'd been given a choice, at sixteen. Whether he would fulfil the purpose he was _made_ for, to grant life where it could be otherwise unable to exist - or to be sterilized and trained as an Aunt for the facility. He may not like the way they spoke of their duties, the way they treated them as less than people, but in the end he still wanted to do this. It wouldn't be so bad. And it _had_ to be better than living in the facility and being fed propaganda for twelve hours every day.

This was his first assignment. And they had to make sure he understood his so called ' _position_ '. Still, the aunt seemed extra forceful this time. Was it because he was their failed experiment? ...probably. 

“Your predecessor was deemed _unsuitable_ ,” she said, her lips pursing slightly. He wondered what it was that was unsuitable about the other Empty they’d sent. “You are the only one in stock at the moment who fits the outlined standards. So you will have to do.” 

Prompto bowed his head, the wings of the white headdress obscuring his expression from the aunt’s judgemental eyes. He could have his facial expressions in peace. Without receiving a zap from the tazer swinging from her belt. “I will do my duty, Honoured Aunt.” 

There was the faint, tinny noise of a voice in her earpiece, and she straightened her already impeccable posture. “We are beginning our ascent. Prepare yourself.” 

Prepare himself. How was he supposed to do that? He thought bitterly as the airship landed and began to power down. His hair, which he grew out beyond the prescribed length, was covered and hidden behind a white cotton cap, so what did it matter if it was messy? If it stuck up at all angles like a bird beast’s tail feathers? Make-up was a vanity, and a luxury they were not permitted, so he couldn’t do anything about that. 

In the end, he settled for straightening the scarlet fabric of his clothes after getting to his feet. Pants, cinched at the ankle underneath boots, were tied at the waist, the knot pulled through a slit in the knee-length robe; a basic tee cut with a high neck. Not a dress, obviously, that would let them be confused with Handmaids. The fabric was too thick to wrinkle and the pattern was shapeless, but at least he looked like he was obeying. The aunt seemed pleased. 

The hatch at the end of the ship opened, letting in bright light. It was night, they must be in a city. Gralea? Cartanica? Eusciella? Nobody bothered to tell him where they were going. 

He followed the aunt out of the airship, onto the cobbled footpath. Underneath the safety of his headdress, he darted his eyes around until he found a sign, a chalkboard, a scrap of paper - _anything_ that might tell him. 

A stack of pamphlets on a turning post. _Welcome to Altissia!_ Altissia? In Accordo? Who was rich enough to drag him all the way out here? 

Handmaids and Empties weren’t supposed to be able to read, really. It wasn’t part of their education, deemed _unnecessary_ for their lifestyle. Orphans did better than Empties, on that account. He’d never given away the fact he could, just in case they decided to turn off the language centres in his brain. 

He was led, three steps behind the aunt, to a really fancy house. Fancier than any he’d ever seen in the first sixteen years of his life. Not to the front door, of course not. Down a little, discrete set of stairs to the servant’s entrance. 

He was sat on a roughly carved stool in the corner of the kitchen while the aunt spoke to the woman who ran the kitchen. They spoke Tennebraen. He could pick up a word or two, but not enough. He didn’t need to speak to do his duty. 

Eventually, the cook led him upstairs into a big, fancy sitting room – the aunt stayed behind, with a cup of coffee. She told him, in impatient, accented Niflmal to wait. So he did. 

He didn’t dare sit down. Eventually, the door opened, and an elegantly dressed woman entered. Her clothes looked expensive. He bobbed into a little bow. 

She spoke to a nearby man, in some kind of fancy uniform, for a long moment. Then she walked closer and the man spoke. “Lady Lunafreya commands you to remove your wings and raise your face.” 

Wings. That was a cool name for the headdress. Hesitant, he removed the white wings and held it carefully in his hands in front of his crotch. He took a deep breath before raising his face. He dared to take a quick look at the woman, this Lady Lunafreya.

She was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. Her blonde hair was pale, elegantly styled, and blue-green eyes were kind, but unreadable. She studied his features, and her expression became just as unreadable. She spoke to the other guy. 

He left, to fetch the aunt, and she turned to him. “You’re one of the Empties,” she said. Her voice was soft, but not accusatory. “We sent the last one away because he was an Empty too. It seems strange to me that the emperor would send another one of you.” 

Her Niflmal was perfect, if enchantingly accented. It made him wonder why she’d spoken through the guard instead of to him directly. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. 

“Uh,” he floundered, then quickly lowered his eyes. Right, he wasn’t supposed to look at her directly. “The aunt said that I was the only one who fit the, uh, _standards_. I wasn’t told what they were.” 

She took her seat, fingers linking together to rest elegantly in the lap of her gorgeous white dress. “We’re to live in Lucis, after the wedding. They have guidelines about genetic modifications. Enhanced fertility, yes. The rest...” 

“Oh,” he realized. This was it, he realised. This was where he had a choice. He could lie, let her assume that he was just like the others, that he was just as _unsuitable_ as the last empty she had been presented with was.

Or he could tell her. Tell her that he wasn't like the others. That he was raised naturally, without the genetic modifications that made the others inappropriate. 

If he stayed quiet, it would be a little longer before he had to perform the duty he had signed up for. He _was_ nervous - it was supposed to be uncomfortable, right? And what if the people were cruel? Running away and getting recaptured would be a hassle, and that would be one strike before he had to be retrained as one of the aunt and spend his life cleaning instead of actually doing something beneficial for the world.

On the other hand... If he told, he could stay here. In this nice-looking house, instead of the cold and sterile facility. Maybe with actual _food_ instead of the military-like rations they were fed there. And Lady Lunafreya seemed nice, he doubted she would turn out to be cruel.

He took a deep breath, and made his decision.

“It’s because I wasn’t aged up like the rest of them, then,” he explained. “I grew up normally, they had me in an orphanage. Maybe that’s why they sent me.” 

She hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” She watched him studiously for a long moment. “You seem different than the last one.” 

They didn’t get to speak any more. The guard returned with the aunt, who told him to go the kitchen to wait. He expected he’d be sent back to the airship as soon as the aunt returned. But instead, she repeated her lectures on his place, and left alone. 

Apparently, he was suitable to bear children for this Lady Lunafreya, and her husband. Whoever they would both turn out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Patching:  
> 1.1 - the text now contains references to Prompto's choice in becoming an Empty.  
>  \- missing italics replaced.  
> \- Prompto's decision to inform Luna that he is suitable is now explicit, rather than implied.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some edits, see end of chapter notes for more details.

He didn’t think he was supposed to live with an unmarried woman, but it seemed like this Lady Lunafreya was some sort of… higher up woman. More than just someone rich, though the expensive furnishings of the house said that she was rich too. She wasn’t married yet, but he wasn’t taken away or supervised by one of the Aunts. 

He was given a neat little attic bedroom, with a bed on a box spring topped by soft, plain white sheets and a knitted blanket of deep purple. Every morning he woke up with the sun, washed in the smooth white sink, and dressed in a fresh set of scarlet red robes. He reported down to the woman in the kitchen, who asked him to call her Maria. The first couple days he was busy helping different people to-and-from the servant’s entrance to Maria’s sitting room about the upcoming wedding preparations. 

It was nice to actually be doing something. Rather than going from one bullshit propaganda lesson and physical training session to another in an endless cycle of mind-numbing boredom where time lost all meaning. Plus, _bonus!_ , Maria's food was delicious. The whole _going to experience some uncomfortable sex on a regular basis_ thing was almost made worth it by the food alone! She'd even told him that, after his chores were done, he was welcome to go to the Scarlet Gym at the end of the road to exercise and socialise if he wanted.

That morning, though, he was given a different task. He was given a list of grocery items – “just give it to the shopkeeper, they’ll get the best ingredients together for you” – and an expense card. Not cash. He couldn’t be trusted with cash. 

He was given a bag, netted like fishing nets, but made of hard, scratchy fibres. He dressed in a long red cloak and tucked the net into the deep pockets alongside the shopping list and the expense card. Following her strict instructions, he arrived at the supermarket she had an arrangement with. 

Along the way he saw plenty of handmaids, and the occasional Empty. Not many, not this far from Gralea. Scarlets, they called them both here in Altissia. The handmaids eyed him with disdain, and the Empties barely seemed to acknowledge he was there. They didn’t seem to see anything but the task ahead of them. 

He didn’t dare to meet any of their eyes. Kept his head bowed so the white wings of the headdress obscured their faces, but he studied their bodies. They were fit, but not thin. The shapeless red outfits hid most of their figures, but he could see a few whose middles were rounded. None too obviously, couldn’t be more than halfway along. After that, they weren’t expected to perform chores for the house like the other Scarlets. It was too difficult a time, they had to be as careful as possible. 

He joined the line of Scarlets queueing at the counter. Mostly Empties, but some of the handmaids too. Ones he couldn’t read, or weren’t to be trusted picking the right ingredients, he guessed. 

He took out the shopping list and read it over as he waited. Just to give his mind something to do. It was in Tennebraen, or maybe Altissian. But a few words were similar, and anyway he could probably find most of it just looking for the same foreign words on the shelves and items. But he wasn’t trusted with that, whether Maria doubted his abilities or his trustworthiness. She’d said, too, that the shopkeeper would pick the best ingredients. He wouldn’t know what was bad and what was good, or how to pick them. So he waited in the line. 

“Next!” the shopkeeper called impatiently, and he walked up to the counter. At seeing who… _what_ he was, the shopkeeper wrinkled his nose. He spoke in a loud, slow voice, the mixed tongue of Niflmal and Accordian that was popular in Altissia since the annexing: “what…do…you…want?” 

He placed the shopping list and the charge card on the countertop, and his bag after it. “Please,” he said, in his best Accordian. 

The shopkeeper snatched them both up, but when he read the charge card his eyes went wide. He grabbed the bag and hurried into the back room of the shop. Prompto stood there, awkward and waiting. 

Much quicker than he thought, the shopkeeper returned with the bag full to bursting with packages wrapped elegantly in white paper, stamped with some kind of logo. It was familiar for some reason, but he couldn’t pick why. The shopkeeper stumbled out apologies for the wait, that they were currently out of Leiden Potatoes, but he would make sure they were delivered to the House before the end of day. 

He just bobbed into a little bow, took the bag and the charge card, and hurried back out of the store. Two streets away he realised he was lost. Really, really lost. He’d tried to reverse the directions, but he must have got something mixed up. 

He was in a strange area. Houses surrounded him, but they weren’t as fancy as the ones he’d seen along the streets he’d traversed before. He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. What could he do? 

He could go back to the little shop, make his way there. Or ask one of the handmaids to help him get back, the older ones probably knew their way around Altissia pretty well by now. If he could even figure out the way back to the shop. 

Or... he could run away. This was the perfect opportunity. But did he want to?

He thought about it. Things weren't as bad as he'd thought they could be. He hadn't gotten to the actual sex part yet, that wouldn't take place until after the wedding and the swearing in ceremony known as the 'First Ritual'. But - well, two men couldn't enjoy sex, and only gender-traitors wanted to have sex with someone of the same gender as them. It was going to be uncomfortable, but it was the best way for him to do his chosen duty.

Plus, running away meant going back to the facility, where he might spend another two years waiting for an assignment. To put up with the cold and unfriendly environment, and the stupid lessons. And going back to being _useless_.

Okay, no on the running away then. Which meant he had to get back to the right place quickly. ...when he was completely lost. Great.

Groaning, he tilted his head back and looked at the strip of blue sky visible. “Breath of Shiva,” he mumbled, closing his eyes tight. “I need help.” 

He almost thought he felt a gust of icy wind on his face, unseasonably cold for the Altissian summer, but he was distracted from the thought as he heard approaching footsteps. 

Voices spoke to one another, in a strange tongue he didn’t know. Lucian, he’d have to guess. There weren’t that many languages in the Solheim region. Lucians in Altissia? It was almost unheard of. Not since Accordo signed its agreements with the emperor… 

Footsteps came closer, and a masculine voice spoke to him in neat Accordian. A question, by the sound of the inflection. 

He opened his eyes, and yeah, they were definitely talking to him. The guy talking was tall and slender, a refined sort of handsome kinda like the gentleman he’d seen in the halls at the house. Over his shoulder, he could see others. All three of them were dressed in black, the other two dark haired. He’d thought the speaker was tall, but one of the other guys was huge and muscular – the other a similar height to himself and skinny. Lanky. 

The smaller one drew his attention for a long moment. He was a very good-looking man. Prompto could think that without being a gender-traitor, right? He had handsome features, delicate and refined, and his dark hair looked soft. His expression looked almost _bored_ \- as if anyone could be bored in a beautiful city like Altissia!

He seemed to notice that Prompto was studying him, and his eyebrows raised slightly. The Empty felt his cheeks heating with embarrassment - at being caught out looking at a person when he wasn't meant to, right? What else would he have to be embarrassed about? He pointedly looked away, unsure about the flustered feeling in his chest.

He dragged his eyes back to the speaker. He had dark-blond hair and spectacles, and he seemed to repeat the same question. 

“I… I don’t…” He faltered. 

There was a moment, and then: “ah. Niflheim?” 

He nodded. 

And then, much to Prompto’s surprise, the speaker changed to an almost flawless Niflmal. It was accented, the broadness of the vowels and the clipped consonants sounding strange to his ear – though similar to how Lady Lunafreya spoke in her own tongue. But it was completely understandable. “Do you require assistance?” 

He swallowed. Scarlets weren’t supposed to speak to people, really. But the posh guy had spoken to him first, so it would be rude _not_ to answer. “I’m lost,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“May we offer our assistance?” The posh guy asked. “We’re visitors ourselves, but we do have a map handy.” 

He tried to remember. He’d spied the address on some letters of Maria’s. “Altermeria Street?” He ventured carefully. “That’s where my mistress lives.” 

The posh guy consulted his phone for a moment, flicking his gaze at the other two as they… very obviously complained. “We’re headed in the same direction. It would be my pleasure to escort you.” 

He bobbed into a little bow. He really _shouldn’t_ be doing this. A Scarlet, alone with three men? But he didn’t know how else he’d get back to the house. So he kept his head down, hiding behind his wings, as the posh guy spoke to his travel companions. They eventually sounded resigned. 

Posh guy came back, and gestured for him to follow alongside him. “My name is Ignis,” he introduced himself, very formally. 

The tall, strong one grunted and said “Gladio” which… Prompto assumed was his name. The third one didn’t speak. 

“Thank you for guiding me,” Prompto replied instead. It wasn’t like he really _had_ a name to give them. Not one he was supposed to have, anyway. 

The third spoke. His voice was deeper than Prompto had expected by the look of his skinny frame, somehow lighter than the others, but… weightier? He couldn’t pick it. Whatever he said, ‘Gladio’ grunted in annoyance. 

Prompto flinched away when the tall figure suddenly loomed over him, a hand reaching out for him. But Ignis was quick to explain: “there’s no need for concern. Gladio is merely offering to carry your bag for you.” 

Or, the third guy had told him to, more like. Prompto shook his head, bringing it closer to his body. Almost hiding it inside his cloak. “It’s not heavy.” 

Ignis translated, and Gladio grunted again, before falling back to join Number Three. They took backstreets, and it wasn’t long until they left an alleyway and stepped out onto Altermeria Street. He bobbed into a bow, thanked Ignis for his help, and hurried down the street towards the house. 

Maria scolded him, for being late, and for not being able to get the potatoes right away. His ‘punishment’ was being sent up to his room until the next morning. The family had important guests tonight, and she didn’t want him underfoot. 

Prompto was glad for the reprieve. It had been a weird day. But the Lucians – if that’s what they were – seemed nice. If that’s the way they treated Scarlets in Lucis, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad once Lady Lunafreya was married and they went there. 

He could only hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Patching   
> 1.1 - The text is now more explicit about Prompto preferring his life with Luna than being at the facility.  
> \- Prompto now recognises and chooses not to take an opportunity to run away from his current situation.  
> \- Prompto now acknowledges that he thinks Noct is good-looking.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You uhhhhh, wanted 1.6k of absolutely nothing happening right? Worldbuilding, a look into the worship of the astrals and such. But you could probably skip to Chapter Four if you're feeling bored by the content.

Prompto was not invited to the wedding. It wasn’t surprising. Even Maria had left early in the morning to organise the big wedding feast. It was just him alone in the house all day.

But that was all natural. Scarlets weren’t part of the family, or anything like that. They were just an empty vessel to be filled (hopefully) with children. They had their ceremony the next day. The ceremony was usually timed for a handmaid’s fertile days, but with Empties, that didn’t matter. They were always ready. 

So the day after the wedding, Prompto woke up early. He checked with Maria to see if there were any tasks he could do to help her in the morning. The house was full of guests, so there was plenty to do. He helped get breakfast and lunch together – almost torture when he had to fast before the ceremony. At noon, he left the house, a charge card tucked in his pocket and instructions not to be frugal about his offerings. He got that. Lady Lunafreya and her husband came from wealthy families, if he skimped on the offerings people (and the notoriously short-tempered Leviathan) would think he was being disrespectful. 

With a map carefully tucked into his cloak pocket – he planned ahead, this time – he set out from the house. He got to ride one of the gondolas, quietly murmuring a request to be taken to the temple station. “There is a boat for all the Scarlets,” the gondolier sneered at him in the niff-accord creole. “A free service.” 

Keeping his head bowed, he produced charge card and pressed it against the card check. It beeped, and text came up – probably Lady Lunafreya’s name, judging by the widening eyes. “The temple station. Please.” He repeated, more firmly this time. 

The gondolier just nodded and unhitched the boat once Prompto was settled into the plush, comfortable seat. So… he really should have gone to the steamboat for the Scarlets. But the _way_ the gondolier had spoken to him just riled him up beyond smart decisions. 

He enjoyed the sights, as much as he could with the wings doing their best to obscure his vision. Altissia really was beautiful. 

He stepped off once he arrived, and the gondolier hurried away without waiting for another trip. It was mostly Scarlets, the odd different colour scattered about the crowds. It wasn’t a feast day, or a day of worship, so most people had no reason to come to the temples. 

There were different shops and stalls for offerings. He was drawn to the market stalls that lined the streets – the inexpensive hand-crafted goods made with care and devotion. But he had to walk past them, to go the stores with their huge glass windows and prominent displays. 

Leviathan… what did he know about the Tidemother? All the Empties had been taught how to make offerings before their ‘ceremony days’. The Tidemother held domain over fertility and life, all life came from the sea. But especially here, in Altissia. He’d have to make a big show of pandering to her in her own patron city. He’d leave small offers for the others as well, but his main focus was the Tidemother today and, as always, Shiva. The Astral whose star he was born under. 

He visited the Fulgarian’s temple first, buying a few shiny copper coins and a glass statuette on the raised altar, murmuring responses to the aged priest’s blessing. Then he hurried along to join the heavy crowd leading to the Hydraean’s temple. What to get for the Tidemother? Wine of course, the gods always wanted wine. In training, they had told him to gather things from the beach, if he was lucky enough to nearby. A riverbed or lake would do if he wasn’t. Shells, little creatures, seafood, flowers, sand, water-smoothed rocks and little gold tokens they used instead of coins since physical currency had been replaced by the charge cards of gil. Then he was supposed to put them in a paper boat and set it adrift over whatever water was close by. 

He started with buying a wooden boat, from an expensive artisan sore. It was pale wood, carved like a serpant at the front, with a blue hand-painted sail and a niche for a candle and a stick of incense. “May the Tidemother bless your union,” the shopkeeper said with an almost-genuine smile. 

As he lined up at the flower shop, he heard two Handmaidens whispering to one another. “It’s been a year, and still nothing. Sir gave me an extra thousand today, he wants me to buy a pearl to wear. The Tidemother always loves pearls.” Pearls then. He’d buy the most expensive pearl thing he could at the nearest jewellery store and cast it into the sea. That would prove he was devoted, right? To the crowds, if not the Tidemother. 

He lined the bottom of the boat with a sweet-smelling, flowering parsley and draped myrtle and white lotus flowers over the sides. The florist practically drooled as she took his charge card – and the Handmaids around began to whisper. 

“ _That’s him_ ,” he heard repeatedly from women who only showed their pale, unpainted lips. Not all friendly, not all approving, not all hostile. “That’s Lunafreya’s Scarlet! Her ceremony must be tonight.” 

Lady Lunafreya, it seemed, was well-known. And well-liked. Was she some kind of celebrity? As if he wasn’t nervous enough already. 

Word must have spread. Eyes followed him as he purchased a sweet pastry of deliciously-smelling berries and a tart of roe, hating the prescribed fasting as he nestled them amongst the parsley. He was damn hungry. 

The jewellery shop was next. He asked quietly at the door to speak to a jeweller. Word must have spread, because the door attendant merely murmured an agreement and guided him to a private sitting room in the back, serving him the Lucian pepper tea that was the only thing Scarlets were meant to have during the fast while he waited. 

A fancy man in an expensive suit came in, followed by an attendant with boxes of blue velvet. His accent was peculiar, and his use of the creole was poor. But presenting the pieces and listing the prices was clear enough. He gestured to one of the more expensive pieces. Dark pearls that were blue and green and black and grey in different angles, with dark blue sapphire beads and diamonds. It was beautiful, and if he could pick up what the jeweller said, it had once belonged to a queen hundreds of years ago. 

The attendant took his charge card up to the counter while the jeweller wrapped the velvet box in an elegant little bow. He was escorted back out, bobbed a little bow to the jeweller, and then headed over to the wine cellar. All the well-off Scarlets, the kinds with the fanciest boats full of offerings, were waiting for one particular kind. 

Most of them only left with a cupful of golden-coloured wine – but as he watched two Handmaids with pearl-encrusted boats bought a whole bottle between the two of them. Okay. So. He had to buy a bottle to keep up appearances. Got it. 

The green glass was heavy, and he tucked it under one arm to carry, doing his best to ignore the whispers. The candles and incense were hand-made by the temple priestesses, and buying them was the price of entrance into the temple before the Altar of the Tidemother. He finished the final touches on the boat while he waited for the last of the other visitors to leave the altar. Scarlets-only. 

When they passed into the final antechamber, all talking stopped. Sacred spaces bred solemn silence. The air tasted like salt and sea, and Prompto tried to focus on that as he untied the cloak strings around his collarbone. There was only breathing, and the rustle of fabric. 

Once he removed his wings and the white bonnet, he couldn’t help notice things in his often-neglected peripheral vision. Masculine figures with hair clipped short or shaved completely, feminine figures, healthily plump, some rounded with life and long, infrequently cut hair in all sorts of shades loosed from bonnets. 

Naked, with nothing but skin and hair and offerings, they filed out of the antechamber onto the altar. Then they walked through the round arch and descended stairs onto a submerged marble platform. In groups, they formed a line at the edge of the altar, where the currents pulled at their legs and the hair of women whose hair grew past breast-height to dip into the sea. They poured wine over their boats and into the water, as the priestess murmured prayers to beg blessings from the Tidemother. For fertility and motherhood - _really, they couldn’t say parenthood?_ \- and thriving life and health. 

Once the final recitation and repeat was lost over the sound of the nearby falls, they pushed their boats out and retreated to side of the platform to bathe in the Tidemother’s waters. Pairs and small groups used salt to scrub each other clean, low conversations forming under the sound of the priestess’s echoing prayers. Prompto just grabbed his own handful and rubbed it against his skin, to cleanse of the first layer of old skin. It was fine. He was used to being alone, the odd one out. 

Once clean, he headed, dripping, back to the antechamber to take a raw cotton towel, drying himself and putting himself back onto the scarlet robes he wore day after endless day. 


	5. Chapter Four

He left the corner of the hexopolis devoted to the city’s patron deity. Her temple was Westmost, at 3-o’clock. The hexopolis was built to the compass directions of the Hexatheon. The Fulgarian to the north-west, the Hydraean to due West, Archaean in the south-west corner – then in the other half, the Infernian to the south-east corner, Bahamut in the east, and – his own destination - the temple of the Glacian in the north-east. It was significantly less busy as he left the Leviathan’s area, almost deserted by the time he crossed the middle into the western half.

He offered tithes and small statuettes to the other three as he passed their temples, and finally came to the almost-deserted Temple of the Glacian. It was significantly colder here. By the Astral’s gaze, or elemancy magic more likely. The Infernian’s temple had been blazing hot, from the tempered magma pool and the bonfires lit every few feet. Even in the hot summer day, his breath misted in front of his face and frost nipped at the toes of his boots. 

There were less people here than anyone else. The icy Glacian wasn’t favoured by many people, not in a city that thrived on flowing water. He had no issue going to the crafty market stalls here, rather than the expensive and mostly closed stores. 

He knew what to get his patron Astral. He bought a hand-woven basket made of pine branches, lined it with holly and mistletoe leaves. Evergreens – no berries this time of year though. Dates and roasted hazelnuts that had his stomach giving a fierce roar of protest. A stall of flowers gently encouraged him to add sylleblossoms too – “they’re a favourite of Shiva’s, and only grow naturally in the cold climates of Tennebrae. Fitting, hm?” 

Word must have reached this far too. Or she recognised the name on his charge card. He agreed and, after adding pure white feathers to the nestled basket, he moved on to the temple.

At the doors, he bought two mugs of mulled wine. This was risking the fast but, it was only a liquid. And it was traditional! And it would settle his nerves as the sun sunk lower towards the horizon. 

A priestess, shivering in furred robes, led him to an ante-chamber. He moved to undress, getting as far as removing his wings, but froze – heh, get it? Froze! – when he saw someone enter. Someone he recognised. 

"Anoctinum?” Lady Lunafreya asked, surprised. That was him. That was his name now. 

They were always given new names with every house they went to. If he’d been given to a man named Verstael in Niflheim, his name would have become Eiverstaedum. He didn’t know what the Accordian or Tennebraen traditions were, but Lady Lunafreya’s husband was Lucian. The husband being named Noctis, gave him the name Anoctinum. 

Or would, soon. Technically he wasn’t Anoctinum yet but... well, he couldn’t exactly tell them all his name was Prompto. He would be ‘given’ the name Anoctinum – however temporarily – in a small rite before the First Ceremony that night. But everyone in the house had taken to calling him Anoctinum since the wedding yesterday. 

He bowed to her, carefully averting his eyes. Since he didn’t have the wings on, he could still kind of see her as she removed the heavy white drape of fur. 

“I didn’t know to expect you here.” She didn’t sound disapproving... he’d almost say it was pleasantly surprised. 

He scratched awkwardly at his cheek. “I was born under the Glacian’s star,” he mumbled. “The matron at the orphanage was devout. I’ve... I’ve always gone to Shiva with everything. I’m sure she’d bored of listening to me talk about every little thing, but I feel close to her. I wanted to give her an offering too. For... for tonight.” 

She nodded in understanding and smiled. “Shiva is my patron Astral too. I came for blessings on the marriage and... and tonight too,” she added gently. She stepped towards the door out to the temple. “I can’t see you go in for now. Not until after the ceremony. But I’ll wait for you outside, and we can travel back together.” 

It almost sounded like an offer, rather than a command. He nodded anyway, and murmured, “yes, m’lady.” M’lady. Like he should be tipping a trilby. “I should prepare.” 

Lady Lunafreya smiled and stepped out of the antechamber, almost gliding through the air. She was so beautiful, so elegant, so perfect. 

He bowed is head, swallowing down the thoughts. He cleared his mind, peeling off the thoughts as he removed the red fabric. Bright colours weren’t okay in the Glacian’s temples. White, or pale blue, or greys and blacks. Winter colours. But definitely not bright bright red. 

He stripped down to the mostly-white undergarments. The ‘boxers’, almost a petticoat, and the white singlet shirt. He wished he’d thought to wear the winter clothes under his summer scarlet, as he shivered in the frosty air. Luckily the room was equipped for that. The far wall was covered in plain furs and woollen items to layer up on. 

He felt the tiniest sense of satisfaction as he pulled the white fur wrap Lady Lunafreya had worn, over the top of woollen pants and a thick sweater. No longer shaking from the cold, he pushed his feet into lined boots and stepped through the door. 

The room inside was literally frozen. The walls were ice, or at least covered so thickly in ice he couldn’t see the material underneath. The floor was marble, but there was a crunchy layer of ice underneath a powdery dust of snow to stop it from being a trip hazard. 

He crossed to a bower woven of evergreen branches and sat down on an upturned log, setting down his offering basket on the stone altar and uncapping the mugs of mulled wine. One he kept held between his whitened fingers, and the other he sat on the log across from him. 

He’d never done this in an actual temple before, but it was thankfully similar to the woodland offerings he’d done in the deep of winter. He closed his eyes and took a deep sip of the mulled wine. 

It had been cider, back in Ghorovas – warmed and spiced. But the mulled wine was nice, even if the alcohol quickly went to his head in his fasting state. He felt an icy wind, and almost thought he could hear footsteps crunching on the snow – then the sound of the other mug being raised and sipped from. Maybe it was the priestess who did this. 

He dared to open his eyes, like he never had in the woods. Sitting on the other log, mug in hand, was a beautiful woman with pale skin and dark hair. She was dressed in fancy black and gold robes, she must’ve been a higher priestess. Her eyes were closed, so he didn’t see what colour they might be. 

He quickly shut his again, before she could see he had opened them. He sipped from the mulled wine to warm his tongue and lips. Then he began to murmur familiar prayers – simple language, layman’s words in unrefined Niflmal. 

He would have been surprised if the priestess had understood them at all, but he was almost numb with shock when she replied in kind. Her accent was peculiar, sounded nothing like any other he’d heard in Altissia or Niflheim. But it was nice. It sounded kind. “Welcome, Prompto. Thank you for your offering, and your devotion. You may open your eyes again.” 

He shifted guitily as he did that. He’d been caught out anyway. “Sorry.” 

“There has been no offense, Prompto. You may look upon me.” When he opened his eyes to look, she was wearing a gentle smile. Her eyes were still closed. “You may call me Gentiana.” 

“Gentiana,” he repeated. “Thank you for listening to my prayers, and partaking in my gift.” 

The smile remained. “You’ve come to seek blessings for your union.” He felt comfortable here. Felt comfortable around the priestess of a goddess he’d felt close to all his life. An Astral he’d considered his friend until he was old enough to understand that was blasphemy. He released his hold on his leg muscles, letting his knees bounce up and down. Hopefully the priestess would think it was a method of keeping warm, and not the nervous energy it really was. 

“I wouldn’t really call it a union,” he replied. “Union implies something mutual right? Both of us getting something out of it. It’s not like that. It’s me doing a duty, fulfilling my task.” 

“You’ve come to seek blessings for your task then,” she corrected. At his nod, she continued: “the icebringer grants you blessings on your duty, on the ritual tonight, on your body and your future. Go forth, o’ bless-ed one.” She reached out, hand too steady for her still having her eyes closed. She touched his cheek, and they were frozen. The cold sunk into his cheek, made his teeth ache and his head twinge. But it was a comforting sort of cold, like ice water on a blisteringly hot day. 

He bowed his head politely. “Thank you. I hope I can be worthy of the Glacian’s favour.” 

She rose to her feet, stance steady. It was almost like she could see, even with her eyes closed like that. “You must depart, Prompto. The sun is setting.” 

He jumped up, feeling a slight jolt of panic shoot through him. He collected the empty mugs of mulled wine – he didn’t even remember drinking his – and bowed to her again before backing out of the room. It was rude to turn your back on a priestess. 

It was much warmer inside the antechamber than inside the altar room. Anxious about the time, he hurriedly dressed back in his scarlets and stepped out into the temple courtyard. 

His eyes found Lady Lunafreya, seated beside the cart that roasted chestnuts. She smiled when she spotted him and rose to his feet. “Sorry I took so long,” he murmured, bowing his head so it was concealed by the white wings of his headdress. 

“It’s alright,” she answered kindly. “Shall we go? It’s almost time to begin preparations for the ceremony.” He bowed, and followed her to the gondola station, eyeing the shadows as they crept longer against the stones. Time was running out. Too soon, he’d be facing his duty. 

He closed his eyes, and tried to linger on the feeling of the cold touch to his cheek. _Shiva’s blessing,_ he thought to himself. _Make me strong enough to get through this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost the last 500 words of this chapter and had to rewrite them again. Curses.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some edits, more details in the chapter end notes.

The bath was the first part of the preparations. There was oils and bath salts – even a funny-looking bath bomb swirled with glitter. But he just used water. Hot water and an unscented soap. Scrub scrub scrub until he couldn’t smell the salt water on his skin any more. 

The second part, the most awkward part, he tried not to think about too much. Even with the fasting, an enema was prescribed. He didn’t have the traditional features of a woman, so the cleansing was necessary – or so they’d told him in training. If husbands didn’t want to get their dicks dirty, that was fair. It had health benefits at least, he’d read that. 

He never had much body or facial hair. Still, he used the razor to shave and manscape. The facial hair was required, but he enjoyed neatening up everywhere too. Something for him, in a ritual that was all about giving away his body to other people. 

There was a selection of oils on the sink vanity. He used a scented, liquid one to smooth over his skin. A thicker, more slippery fluid was picked for… another purpose. He tilted the angle of his hips, lifted one of his legs up. He slicked up his fingers and slowly, carefully prepped himself. 

There had been instructional diagrams, and videos, but he’d never actually... _done_ this. It felt weird. Full and pressure, warm and tight around his fingers. He tried to disconnect from the situation, making his entrance slick and stretched. 

It wasn't supposed to _hurt_. They were engineered for the sex not to hurt, but it was definitely going to feel weird, right? But he could put up with uncomfortable and weird, he still wanted to do this. Lady Lunafreya was _nice_ , and he wanted to give her the children she wanted.

A short, wide plug was the last preparation he got to do on his own. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to go out and face the crowd. 

He stepped out of the bathroom into his small attic bedroom, and saw Maria there, waiting with most of the household staff. “Sorry for the delay.” He mumbled. He felt exposed and naked – but despite the complete lack of clothing, he felt the most self-conscious that they were all seeing his hair for the first time. It was an odd thing to focus on. 

“We only just came in,” she answered soothingly. “Ready?” 

He nodded and stepped up onto a short pedestal. Like going to the gallows, he thought bitterly. Customs were different for this part of the preparations. In Niflheim, it was an Aunt that took care of this for the first ceremony. When he asked Maria what time one would be coming, she’d informed him that he could expect a different custom. Instead anyone who wished to attend could, other than the husband and wife, and the person of highest rank would be the one to dress him. Maria, in this case. 

Most of the household staff was there, watching him. It was only about ten people over all, but he felt like a caged bird in the middle of a room, being gawked at. He wished it had just been an aunt, not this weird Tennebraen custom. It would’ve been less exposing. 

Maria picked up a bundle of scarlet fabric, and had just stepped towards him when the door opened. A familiar man stood there – the uniformed man from the very first time he met Lady Lunafreya. Without wings to obscure his vision, he got a proper look at him for the first time. 

He was tall, even with Prompto stood up on this stool. One of the tallest people he'd ever seen. The white uniform coat he was wearing made him look even taller. He had sharp, cold features and silvery-blond hair, hanging about his face. He must be from Tennebrae too, he sort of resembled Lady Lunafreya in a way. “My apologies, I was delayed.” He didn’t look sorry at all. 

He came over and took the fabric from Maria. Was he the butler or something? He must outrank her. He slowly peeled off his gloves, and Prompto shivered with the night air against his bare skin. He tried very hard to be patient. He didn’t have much success. 

Eventually, the gloves were off, and the man unfolded the fabric. Something round and golden was resting on the folded robe. He picked up the ring, gave a discomforted little face and gestured with the ring to Prompto. “Hold your shaft.” 

Oh. No. He’d heard about this. There were ‘studies’ that Empties were more fertile when they were ringed. The lab scientists had snorted about it, but the Aunts had spoken of it as fact. A rather straightforward trainer had said it was about making sure the Empties didn’t accidentally impregnate the wives, as if that was possible most of the time. 

He looked away, trying to keep his expression blank as he lifted his lip dick for the butler guy. At least it was warm as it was hooked on and fastened closed. It wasn’t tight, but he was soft. 

“You don’t remove that, you understand me?” He asked, his Niflheim surprisingly unaccented, but refined. 

Instead of complaining, he just nodded. Sure, he didn't want to wear the ring, but he'd agreed to this. That included following the customs of the family he was situated with.

The guy quickly turned away to pick up the short-sleeved scarlet red robe. This one was silk, not like the cotton summer robes, or the woollen winter ones. It was soft against his skin, causing little shocks of pleasure down his spine. His nipples peaked at the sensation, even though they’d just gotten used to the cold and plumped again. The butler guy looked at them with a disdainful eye and then gestured for Maria to pass over the pants. No underwear, not before the Ceremony. 

Trembling from nerves and unsteadiness, Prompto focused on keeping his balance as he lifted his feet to step into the pants. The butler’s fingers were deft as he as he threaded the ties through the slit in the robe – at the back for Ceremonial wear, instead of the front – and pulled the pants tight enough to bite into his hips, forming a quick bow that could easily be undone with a tug to the tail. 

He was left barefoot,. For the final touch, a long length of patterned lace in scarlet red was brought over by two housemaids. Traditionally, it was the bride’s wedding veil dyed red – but Lady Lunafreya hadn’t worn one. They really _were_ trying to keep up appearances, weren’t they? Sparing no cost on _him_ , the lowly scarlet. Including ten feet of handmade red lace. A veil he’d only wear twice in his life – when he was sworn in, and when he left their service. His funeral, or one of theirs, or much more commonly, the Leaving Ritual which ended by covering his face back up with the veil before he left the house for good. 

He felt like a kid pretending to be a ghost in a bed sheet, as he knelt on the floor before the pedestal and the guy billowed the fabric over him with a firm shake. It was held in place by some sort of cold, metal headband thing he couldn’t get a clear look at through the patterned lace. When he stood, the front of the veil brushed his bare wrists, and the rest of the fabric dragged behind him. 

_This is ridiculous_ , he wanted to shout. _Why are we going to so much fuss? It shouldn't take fifteen minutes to get him dressed!_ But he bit down on his tongue and kept silent. The butler guy led the way out, and Prompto followed him as best as he could with his limited vision. The two housemaids – the youngest in the staff, he guessed – lifted the back of the veil so it didn’t trail on the ground. 

They descended the stairs of the house, and the front doors were pulled open. That was... weird. The first ritual was sometimes shared with friends and families, but why were they leaving the house? Why was there people crowding the streets and pointing him out to one another eagerly? There was even the flash of cameras. 

They walked as a procession down the road, to the Cathedral of the Tidemother at the end of the street. There were more people inside the cathedral when he was led through the front doors. They were dressed in all sorts of fancy, formal wear. A lot of army uniforms and stuff like that. At the end of the purple-carpeted aisle was a white blur he assumed was Lady Lunafreya. The dark-coloured blur next to her he guessed was her husband he had yet to meet, as was traditional. They both faced the high priestess of Leviathan who waited at the altar. 

It was almost like a wedding, and he trembled under the veil. He didn't understand what was happening, and the confusion was making him anxious. 

A high priest of Behamut would conduct the wedding ceremony, as well as blessings from a lower priest of patron deities for the couple. He’d heard devout families sometimes asked a priestess to officiate the first ritual, but never anything like this. 

As he got closer, they became more visible. Lunafreya was dressed almost like a bride, but not in her wedding dress. She wore a fitted white dress and held a... trident?? A golden tiara studded with black stones and diamonds was atop her head, hair cascading seductively around her shoulders. 

He darted his eyes to the husband and swallowed anxiously. This was the guy who was doing to be inside him before midnight. He hoped he was nice. They were going to have sex repeatedly, until Prompto was pregnant. He didn't want to have to go through all this weird, confusing ceremonial stuff if he just had to end up running away because he couldn't put up with this. 

The husband was dressed in black and gold, a cloak heavy with golden chains resting on his shoulders. He swallowed anxiously as he saw a golden circlet around the dark hair of the husband’s head. Women wore tiaras or flower crowns at weddings all the time. But if a _man_ was wearing a crown? 

They were having a huge, elaborate ceremony, instead of something simple at home. Almost like their union would matter to more than just the family...

And he’d been told not to be frugal with his gifts for the offering. The jeweller had no hesitations about selling him a necklace that had once belonged to a _queen_.... 

No. No. He had to be mixing up Lucian traditions somehow. There was no way that guy could be a royal, that Lady Lunafreya had married a... That he was supposed to be the vassal that bore a... No. No way. 

He’d reached the altar. The butler – fuck, he probably wasn’t a butler, was he? – took his hand and gave it to Lady Lunafreya’s one. Instead of a ribbon, like the ceremonies he’d seen in footage, the priestess bound their hands together in a delicate golden chain. His was shaking, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

He knelt and both the bride and groom turned to face him. He kept his eyes lowered, hating how they began to water. Everything was so confusing, and he wanted to stop everything and ask what was going on. But he couldn't. This whole big ceremony thing would be ruined just because he couldn't put up with a little bit of confusion. 

The priestess spoke, not in Tennebraen, but a heavy, droning language he’d heard from inside the temple of Bahamut. Lucian. He understood almost nothing. 

But he did understand two phrases. “Prince Noctis” and “Princess Lunafreya”. He wanted to die right there and then. _A prince. A princess!_ How could nobody have told him about this? Was it supposed to be so obvious everyone thought he should have known all along? 

At some point, the priestess asked them a question. First Noctis, who replied with a simple phrase, then Lunafreya, who replied with the same words, and then the priestess looked down at him and asked something. 

Right. The most important part of the First Ritual was the part where they all agreed to the union. He could stop everything right now, could say no. But that would probably mean that this whole thing would be over, and he had to go home.

_It's okay, _he reassured himself silently. _This may be big and elaborate and confusing, but this is still the First Ritual. This is important to all three of us.___

____

He tried to copy the words the prince and princess had said as best as he could, and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

____

She repeated the question, or maybe a new one, in what he could sort of recognise as Tennebraen – from hearing it amongst the staff at the house. Lunafreya first this time, and Prompto – who just nodded because he hadn’t heard what she said well enough – and then Noctis. 

____

And then he was shocked to hear her speaking high, formal Niflmal. The kind only used by the clergy and actors. She looked down at him and asked. “O bless-ed one, you are invited to be the vassal of this union. To bear the children of the Lucis Caelum line, to become the physical form to the lady’s motherhood, the receptacle of the conjugal rights. Do you consent to this duty?” 

____

Oh Shiva, give him strength. What the fucking hell? They weren't the normal oaths he was supposed to agree to! But... nothing about that really sound bad. It pretty much sounded like a fancy way of saying the same things the normal ritual would. He swallowed. “I do,” he said, surprised by how strong and sure his own voice came out. Why should he be nervous? It was what he was made for, after all. 

____

The priestess turned to the prince next. “You crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, one hundred and fifteenth of your line, you are invited to be the father of this union. To sire the children of the Lucis Caelum line, to be the begetter to the lady’s motherhood, the beneficiary of the conjugal rights. Do you consent to this honour?” 

____

The prince replied “I do,” in a sort of stilted way that made it was obvious he was repeating a foreign phrase he’d been taught, instead of knowing what it meant. 

____

Lastly, the priestess turned to Lady Lunafreya. “Princess Lunafreya Nox Flauret, lady of Tennebrae, are invited to be the mother of this union. To nurture the children of the Lucis Caelum line, to be the mother of the blessed gift, the overseer of the conjugal rights. Do you consent to this blessing?” 

____

She gave a gentle smile, and squeezed Prompto’s hand again. “I do,” she said, voice graced with complete sincerity. 

____

The high priestess began to speak the droning Lucian again, and Prompto let himself get lost in his panicky thoughts. That was the weirdest version of the duty vows he’d ever heard. The basic ‘will you father/bear/mother any children of this union?’ was kind of there, buried under all the fancy old language. But what was that other thing? What were conjugal rights and why did it sound like he was the one that had to let the prince use them on him, if his wife said he could? Was it like some kind of pregnancy thing? 

____

The priestess said something to the prince and princess, and with one hand each, they lifted the veil away from his face and he looked up at them both. Without the lace in the way, he could see clearly how beautiful they both were. The prince looked.... somehow familiar, but he couldn’t pick why. 

____

They both said, in union “something something Anoctinum” in Lucian first, and then Tennebraen and then, he assumed was the translation in Niflmal: “I name thee Anoctinum.” 

____

The priestess said something, and made a sort of ‘stand up’ gesture at him, so he got off his aching knees onto his feet. They turned to walk down the aisle of the cathedral, and the guests all murmured blessings in different tongues as they passed by. 

____

Prompto left his stomach back in the cathedral, bile crawling in his throat as they began the walk back down to the house. He felt completely adrift, lost in a snowstorm with no idea if he was going the right way or not. They were going to have _sex_. There had been videos, and uncomfortably explicit explanations from the Aunts who taught the lessons. But knowledge wasn't the same as _experience_. What if he messed up somehow and they sent him back anyway? 

____

Lunafreya gave his hand another gentle squeeze. 

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, at the beginning of this chapter: Okay this one is finally going to be the smut.  
> 2.3k words later: Uh..... nope.
> 
> Fic Patching:  
> 1.1 - More clues about the "butler"s identity for clarification.  
> \- Prompto's nervousness is more obviously directed towards the upcoming sex rather than the whole situation, and his confusion about the elaborateness of the ritual rather than anxiety about the ritual itself  
> \- Prompto's conscious decision to agree and swear oaths to his duties is now explicit rather than implied  
> \- Minor grammatical fixes


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the smut chapter!  
> You know your dub-con line, not me. Nothing happens in this except the sex, so if you don't want to read it feel free to skip.  
>  **Edit: TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter contains what can strongly be interpreted as rape.**
> 
> Some edits, more details in the chapter end notes.

“You’re blond.”

Those were the first words the crown prince Noctis of Lucis and Galahd had ever spoken to him. And he didn’t even understand them – the princess had to translate. 

The three of them had been escorted up to the ceremony room by the full household staff and the definitely-not-a-butler that the princess called ‘Ravus’ as she thanked him and closed the door in his face. Prompto felt awkward as hell, but the wedded couple seemed at ease. They both moved to different sides of the room and started taking off their various accessories. Prompto looked around and knelt down on the red cushion provided for his knees. 

The different crowns were sat down, and the princess placed the trident into a special stand. Then she reached up to unzip the side of her dress, and he yanked his eyes away, flushing pink. But his eyes landed on the prince, who had hung up his cloak and was starting to unbutton his suit. Okay. There was nowhere safe to look, was there? 

He just dropped his eyes down to the kneeling cushion, looking very intently at the pattern of pearls and black stones around the outside. How interesting, yep just gonna keep looking down at those. 

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the princess’s voice above him, saying his new name. He yanked his gaze up to her face before he remembered technically he wasn’t allowed to look her in the eyes. She was dressed now in some sort of billowy white...probably a nightgown? He could see the delicate bones of her ankles, indented with the released pressure of a shoe strap. 

“We’re going to undress you now,” she told him calmly. The prince said something with a mocking sort of tone, and she scolded him lightly. Scolded. A prince. 

Would everyone be very angry if he had a heart attack and died right there? 

He gave her a little nod, even though she didn’t need permission. He still felt better giving his permission, even if it wasn't necessary. To his surprise, it was only after he nodded that she moved, stooping a little to remove the heavy metal headband holding the veil in place. The fabric, tugged by its own weight, slid of his head and gave the smallest of thumps as it landed on the floor, pooling around him. 

She went to hand her husband the – oh god, was he wearing one of those fancy standy-uppy crowns the whole time? The prince, now dressed in the black button shirt from under his suit. 

His legs were surprisingly skinny, and so pale. But not pale enough to hide the silvery-white scars that ravaged most of his right leg. From halfway up his calf, all the way up his thigh until it disappeared under the black silk. The blush-coloured skin of his scrote was just visible under the dangling fabric, tented ever so slightly. 

Injured, that was good. If he ever needed to, he now knew a weak point he could use to disable the guy and get away. The winced a little - okay, probably not good to be thinking about attacking and escaping when he was about to sleep with the guy. He reined his thoughts in properly.

He put the crown away with the other, and it was only then he turned to looking at the kneeling Empty. 

He jerked with unrestrained surprise, walking over. He’d said the words then, and reached forward to run his fingers through the mess of blond hair, mussed into disarray by the veil. 

Prompto made a confused noise, and the princess let out a soft little giggle. “He said ‘you’re blond’,” she translated, amused. 

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? He just sat there, staring intently at the bare toes of the prince and princess. Bare toes. He was seeing royal toes. He wanted to laugh, for some reason that seemed hilarious to him. 

The pair spoke to each other for a moment, coming to some kind of agreement, before the princess walked away. She used a small set of stairs to step up onto the tall bed. It was a huge metal thing, draped in black curtains of heavy, gold-embroidered velvet. The sheets and blankets had been folded back, and there was some kind of huge towel spread across the fitted sheet. 

She leaned back against the huge, soft pillows and spread her legs wide. The extra fabric of the skirt was enough it didn’t even stretch against her legs. Giving plenty of space for him to.... get between them. 

He shivered nervously. Okay. He could do this. It wasn't going to _hurt_ , right? And he could put up with a little discomfort to give life where they couldn't. That was easy. Just lie back and think of Niflheim. Or.... Lucis, he guessed? He’d never even seen a picture of their enemy kingdom. And why was the emperor sending the future queen of Lucis an Empty anyway? 

Noct murmured something, and Luna kindly translated from the bed. “He’s asked you to stand.” 

He swallowed and got to his feet, legs tingling as the blood flowed back into them. The prince stepped up behind him, and he felt the slight pressure as he pulled on the tail of the bow, loosening the ties of his pants. They slid down the skin of his legs and pooled on the floor and he was suddenly grateful for the length of the robe that meant he wasn’t flashing the prince and princess. 

She patted the space between her legs and gave him a welcome smile. “Why don't you come up here,” she encouraged. 

He swallowed and stepped forward. In the facility, they’d told him that the traditional position would have him at the end of the bed, where the husband could better get to him, with his head resting up against the wife’s crotch. 

(Wouldn’t they end up headbutting her a lot as the husband thrust? That could _not_ be comfortable? Unless it felt good???? That wasn’t the kind of questions they were not allowed to ask.) 

But the princess was lying too far back in the bed for him to be at the bottom. So as he awkwardly shuffled up to get between her legs, he felt a little lost. Near her feet, he turned around so he could lie down. 

She gently touched his arm. “Come up here. Lean back against my chest.” 

Well. That was... unusual. He moved obediently, shifting closer where she’d instructed. He leaned back so his head was resting against her breasts, cheeks pink. 

He’d touched girl’s boobs before, he hadn’t gone to the facility completely unspoiled. He’d had something like a girlfriend in one of the villages near the orphanage. He wasn’t a total virgin. But this felt scary and intimate, even if there was layers of fabric between them. His stomach fluttered nervously. 

From there, his eyes sort of... naturally fell comfortable in an angle that meant he was looking directly at the prince. He crouched, giving a slight groan as he bent his knees, to pick up the kneeling cushion. He approached the bed, using the steps to get onto his knees on the mattress. He paused before moving any further, and asked a serious question. Luna translated: "Are you okay to begin?"

It was nice of them to ask, even if they didn't need to. He'd agreed to this. He gave them a shaky smile and nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this." He felt the shift of her nodding in confirmation to her husband, and only then did the prince continue.

She relayed instructions for Prompto to raise his hips, and the cushion was placed under his hips to boost them up. He took a deep, steadying breath and raised his knees, planting his feet on the bed next to Luna’s calves to spread wide. He shivered as the silk of his robe brushed sensitive skin – he ass was exposed to the prince, but the fabric managed to drape and cover his dick at least. Can’t have the husbands get a face full of dick when they were trying to get off, right? 

The princess gently took his hands and interlocked their fingers. He could feel her breath gusting across his hair, twitching the wild mess. He shivered as the feeling shot all the way down his spine. He was starting to feel the ring around the base of his dick. 

The prince moved forward and his hands were surprisingly gentle as he pushed Prompto’s legs a little wider. He almost thought the fingers _trembled_ as they tugged out the plug keeping him open and ready. Disgust? Nerves? The look on the prince’s face when he dared to dart a quick glance was a cautious sort of interest. 

When the prince lifted the hem of his shirt, he was already fully hard. Was... was he a _gender-traitor_? No... it _had_ to be Lunafreya’s presence... right? 

The pale hand gave the plumped shaft a stroke, and then he was intimately close. One hand bracing on the mattress, the other held his dick steady as he lined up to press into Prompto. Another delay, and the prince asked a question. He huffed impatiently. "Just go _in_ already!" he muttered. The princess giggled as she translated for Prompto. The prince gave a slight chuckle, and then Prompto felt the pressure of him pushing in.

Okay. It was done. He’d received his first dick. With the prep, and the plug, it didn’t hurt, like he expected it wouldn't. Sure, he’d been told that they’d been engineered not to feel pain in that area, but he’d always worried that was a white lie. He just felt... full. It wasn’t a totally uncomfortable sensation. Not as bad as he had been expecting. 

The prince asked something, and the princess’s voice murmured in his ear to translate: “ready?” 

He nodded, lifting his eyes so he could look up at the canopy of the bed. There were stars there. Constellations of Shiva and Ifrit. The only wedded Astrals. 

The prince began to move, and even though Prompto tried really hard to focus on the pattern on the canopy, his brain locked on to the sensation of the hardness moving in-and-out of him. It wasn’t so bad. He could do this. 

Then the prince shifted his hips slightly, and a cry tore out of Prompto’s throat as a spark of pure pleasure shot up his spine. Prince Noctis chuckled and murmured something. His wife’s voice was amused as she murmured the translation into Prompto’s ear: “found it.” 

Found _what_?

He sped his thrusts and Prompto tried to stifle his sounds as the same pleasure sparked all over his body. He could almost feel it in his toes as they curled into the cotton of the towel underneath them. 

“What...” he panted, feeling his muscles all go slack as the pleasure ran through him, “what’s it?” 

She gave short giggle. “That’s your prostate, Anoctinum. It’s what makes this feel good for you.” 

This... this could feel _good_ for him? The proof was right there, completely unable to be ignored, but he was still confused. Nobody had ever said that this could feel good for the Empties! Only gender-traitors were supposed to be able to feel good from two men having sex. 

He could feel the ring tight around the base of his deck, and every movement had the silk of his robe rubbing and causing a torturously good sensation across the hyper-sensitive skin of his shaft and head. Even with the ring, every thrust seemed to make a little more pre leak out of his slit and into the fabric, making the sensation maddeningly more good. 

Prince Noctis’s pants started to grow louder, turning into deep groans. He cried out something, but the princess didn’t have time to translate before he slammed in deep and came. 

Prompto could feel the jizz filling him up, somewhere between his guts and his bladder. He fought down a whine. It had felt so good while the prince was fucking him, he almost didn’t want it to stop. His balls felt full, and started to ache. But he realised he couldn’t come, not with the ring, and started to deepen his breaths, force his body to calm down. 

Once the prince had caught his breath, he pulled out. That was the weirdest sensation, liquid spilling out in his wake. Lunafreya’s hands let go of Prompto’s – his fingers had left white indentations in her skin, he hadn’t even been aware of clenching down on them. He rubbed the marks apologetically. She passed her husband the plug and Prompto made a quiet noise as it was slid back into him. 

Right. Keep it in. More likely to take that way. 

The couple murmured to one another in Lucian, and after their conversation, she touched his shoulder. “Anoctinum? Do you need anything?” She asked. 

He swallowed. “I should lie on my front,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. “The angle is better...” 

There was a slight pause, and he got a paranoid feeling like that wasn’t what she’d meant. But she nodded and moved out from behind him. He turned over, half on his side, making sure his hips were parallel to the mattress, propped up on the kneeling cushion. 

The prince made some sort of half-strangled noise Prompto couldn’t identify and quickly moved off the bed. He disappeared through a door and after a moment, Prompto heard the sink running. 

Prompto squeezed his eyes closed, let himself try and tune out. It was hard to ignore the sounds of the couple moving around the room, or the ache growing in his balls as he softened without release. 

Half-deliriously, he hoped it wouldn’t take right away. He wanted to do this again. That was his last thought before he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Patching:  
> 1.1 - Consent is more explicit.   
> \- Minor grammatical fixes.


	8. Chapter Six-and-a-Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple people said they wanted to know what was going on with Noct and Luna.
> 
> Behold:  
> Noct is Gay.  
> Luna is Ace.  
> They're both extremely happy Prompto is there for him to fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edit: TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter contains what can be interpreted as rape.**  
>  Nothing happens in this chapter but sex, so please skip if this is not content you are comfortable in reading but still want to experience the story.
> 
> Some edits, more details in the chapter end notes.

Noct was starting to think that the gods were making up for something terrible that had happened to him in a past life. Because he was hashtag-blessed right now. Sure, there’d been that animal attack when he was a kid that pretty much mangled his leg – but his recovery had led to meeting his best friend in the world, Luna. 

Not only was he marrying his best friend who - as well as being an extremely apt politician, a beloved charitable figure, and the driving force between a truce between warring nations – was totally okay with him being extremely gay. He also had a super cute blond who they had all agreed and sworn that fuck on a regular basis. 

Okay so none of that had come out, but _Specs_ was the eloquent one not him. “You’re blond,” was the only thing that had fallen out of his mouth, the first time he’d actually properly laid eyes on the handmaid. (Uh… not maid. Handman? Handguy? He really needed to ask Specs what to call them). 

His fingers ran through the messy locks, almost fascinated. It was just as pale as Luna’s, but a different shade completely. Hers was a kind of silvery grey undertone, but the hand…. Anoctinum’s was yellow. Like sunlight in a dark room, compared to Luna’s moonlit etherealness. 

Luna straight up giggled at him, and she spoke to the blond in the Nif language. Whatever she said made him give the sweetest little soft “oh” and drop his eyes down to the floor. Man, Noct was so _gay_. 

“This is gonna be pretty awkward if he has no idea what I’m saying,” he pointed out. 

Luna hummed and nodded. “I’ll translate. But really, Noctis, you should put some effort into learning Niflmal.” Specs had said the same thing. 

He pulled the same face, and she just shook her head in amusement. “Should we begin? I would rather get this over and done with.” 

He nodded. “Alright. Let’s start.” He gestured a little. “You get on the bed, I’ll undress him.” 

She gave him a grateful smile and crossed to step up onto the official marriage bed. They’d had delivered in pieces from Insomnia when they learned Emperor Iedolas was ‘gifting them’ a bearer. 

Like many women in Eos, Luna never started the monthly bleeding. (Girls were gross. With their gross weird girl parts. Would Anoctinum do that? That was not a sexy thought. Blood was not sexy.) Unlike the majority of women she showed no interest in sex of any kind, even though she reassured him that everything functioned as it should. Specs had given him a book called _Human Asexuality_ , but like most things he was given to read, he just gave it to Gladio. She had agreed to be present for the mandatory monthly Ceremony as long as it took them to conceive, but would gladly stop after that. 

Once she was sitting up on the bed, he looked down at the blond cutie. “You wanna stand up?” He asked. 

Anoctinum didn’t move – of course he didn’t – until Luna translated from her place on the bed. When he did, Noct quietly stepped up behind him and untied the neat little bow above his hips. The fabric of his pants immediately dropped to the floor and he froze, gaping a little. Was it that easy? He was used to working around belts and jeans and zippers and boxers. 

While he recovered from that sexy, sexy shock, Luna and Anoctinum arranged themselves on the bed. Anoctinum had fantastic legs – runners legs, like Iggy’s, rather than muscular enough to crush his head, like Gladio’s. He probably had a fantastic ass, but that was covered by the long red t-shirt. Oh, was he keeping that on?? Whatever made him more comfortable. Noct left his own on as well, since it seemed that was the way Anoctinum preferred to do this. 

When they were settled, Noct realised he was supposed to move and join them – and Anoctinum was watching him expectantly. He moved, crouching down to pick up the cushion the blond had been kneeling on – it would work to prop up his hips. Sure it caused a rip of pain to spread from his knee up to his hipbone, but he was hardly going to ask one of them to get off the bed to grab it for him. 

He got on the bed, but then he paused. They had all agreed to this, but still... He felt better as he asked: "We good to go?" Give the guy, or Luna, a chance to back out before things got too far. 

Luna translated, but Noct watched the other for his answer. The smile looked nervous, but he nodded and said something that sounded like agreement. He glanced up at Luna for confirmation, and she nodded. Okay. Good. They could begin.

Between him and Luna, they got Prompto propped up. And Noct was right, his ass _was_ fantastic. His hands shook as he tugged the wide plug out of his entrance – just the tiniest bit disappointed that he didn’t get to prep him himself. 

He hesitated again, the head of his deck pressing against the slick entrance. Last chance before this really went too far to take back. He swallowed and looked between them both. "I'm good to start, yeah?"

Luna didn't even have time to translate. The blond gave a, frankly adorable, huff of impatience and snapped at him. Luna giggled and translated: "he said get on with it, Noct." He gave a chuckle, amused _and_ relieved. Satisfied, he began to push forward. 

He pressed his way into the hot, tight warmth until he was balls deep, catching his breath. The blond was looking in his face, but his eyes seemed a little glazed out. 

He took a deep breath, fighting against the urge to just fuck hard and fast. “You ready?” He asked. 

Luna had to translate, but after she did, the blond gave a nod, and looked directly upward. He missed the eye contact a little, but decided not to complain. Anoctinum had signed up for this, had agreed the repeated times Noct had confirmed they could do this, but it didn’t necessarily mean he actually wanted to have sex with men, let alone Noct. 

He began to pull in and out, breathing at the sensation of tight warmth clutching at him. He’d only topped once – when he’d been the filling in a Iggy-Gladio sandwich for a birthday present – but Prompto was tighter and prettier than Gladio. 

Still. He was just laying there. The silk shirt was flopped over his crotch, but Noct guessed he was half-mast at best. It set a gross, squirmy feeling in his stomach. He didn’t want to have sex with someone who wasn’t enjoying himself. He wasn’t into that. 

He glanced at Luna, who had a sort of understanding look on her face. She gave him a sort of nod of permission, not that it was really hers he needed. Touching the surprisingly wide hips of the blond, he lifted them a little to switch position and then…. 

He chuckled at the shocked moan escaping the pretty pink lips with the pouty bottom lip. “There it is.” 

Luna murmured into his ear and Noct went faster. Every thrust caused more sexy noises to escape the blond’s throat, and each one tightened the knot of pleasure building in his core. Noct could see the blond’s hard-on through the silk, and it only became more obvious as he got slick, the fabric darkening and clinging to him. 

It was almost too much. And then it was. He fisted his hands in the sheets and warned him: “I’m coming!” Then he slammed in as deep as he could and felt the pure pleasure of an orgasm overcoming him. 

In the blissed out sensation, he thought he heard the blond give a little whine. He smiled slightly and, feeling his heart slow back down to a normal sensation, he withdrew. Luna, a bit of disgust wrinkling her nose, passed him the plug. Right. Impregnation and all that. 

He pushed it back in, giving a little shiver at the soft moan Anoctinum gave as it slid into his widened entrance. 

“He’s fantastic,” he murmured. 

Luna just rolled her eyes at him and lay back against the pillows. But… Anoctinum just lay there on the bed, eyes glazed but pointed up at the bed canopy. 

“Is… is he alright?” He asked. 

She turned to look back at them, a concerned frown puckering her brow. “Perhaps not. I’m sure it’s overwhelming. And he hasn’t eaten anything all day.” 

“He what?” He asked, eyes widening. 

“They have to fast before the ceremony,” she explained. “And he went to the hexopolis to seek blessings. If the rumours are to be believed, he spent a fortune on offerings to the Tidemother and visited every temple.” 

He frowned in disapproval. “That’s a lot of walking for someone who didn’t get to _eat_. Why wasn’t he allowed to eat?” 

She sighed. “Things are different here, Noctis. Scarlets aren’t revered like the handmaids are in Lucis. Least of all the Empties.” 

“The… _empties?_ Ifrit’s ballsac, they don’t actually call them that?” He hissed, outraged. 

“Well, they were called Maid Type-casts, which they shortened to M.T.s. But they’re not thought of very well, and it soon became,” she said some kind of incomprehensible word in that guttural Niff language. “That translates to Empty, and they sound basically the same in Niflmal.” 

Noct clenched his jaw tightly. “I’ll talk to Ignis about this later, get all the information. For now, we should take care of… what did you call him, a Scarlet?” That was way less offensive than an _empty_. “We should get him food at least. Can you ask him what he wants?” 

She reached down to shake the blond’s shoulder and speak to him. The reply he got had Luna looking somewhat concerned. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead she simply moved off the bed. 

Anoctinum turned on his side and Noct couldn’t help the strangled moan that escaped his throat when the blond’s shapely ass flexed and shifted. He hurried off the bed before he lost control of his libido again. 

He was absolutely not sleeping with Anoctinum until he had Ignis tell him everything the Empire did about their male Scarlets, and exactly what the blond was expecting from him. He wasn't _okay_ with sleeping with someone if they didn't really want it. His stomach felt heavy with it. So he wouldn't sleep with Anoctinum again until he knew more. No matter how cute he was. 

Probably not. 

Maybe. 

Shiva’s tits, he needed to text Specs. ASAP. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Patching:  
> 1.1 - Consent is more explicit.  
> \- Noct's guilt sets in for the audience to see.  
> \- Minor grammatical fixes.


	9. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...
> 
> This is difficult for me. When I begun this fic, I never intended to portray rape. The inspirational media I mainly draw from, that is the Hulu TV series, explicitly states the situation as rape. The book argues that it is not because the Handmaids have chosen it, but that's still an iffy line. Despite this, rape was not a subject matter I am comfortable with dealing with, and I tried to adjust certain aspects of the situation so it didn't cross those lines. This was meant to be a case of situation dubious consent, wherein Prompto's position in life leads to expectations and education/pressures of his performing certain tasks that he otherwise would consent to, and gives what consent he can to the situation.
> 
> After the last two chapters, a few commenters have remarked that the situation was rape. That was never my intention, and I immediately had to write this chapter to try and clarify Prompto's thoughts on the matter. It may be a case of too little, too late for people, and for that I'm sorry.  
> I'm absolutely sorry for people who may have been triggered by the content because I was ignorant and wasn't able to forewarn or tag. I have adjusted the fic warnings and chapter notes to reflect this in order to prevent this from happening again. I have also performed minor edits to make Prompto's choices and consent and opinions more explicit for people's reassurance.
> 
> I very much hope this chapter can clarify things about Prompto's point of view. It is my hope, coupled with the edits of previous chapter, that this firmly shifts this situation from non-consensual to _dubious_ -consensual. 
> 
> Due to an overwhelming amount of support from readers and commentators, I have decided at this time not to delete or discontinue this fic. In future chapters, I will endeavour to be better about tagging and more conscious of that non/dub line from now on. The actions of characters and the universe will still come across as non-consensual to some readers, so please be aware of your own limits and take care of yourselves. The last thing I want is to hurt someone from ignorance or unpreparedness.  
> Thank you for your time.
> 
> **Trigger warnings for this chapter: discussion of rape, arguments about what defines rape, discussion of sex work.**
> 
> Some edits, more details in the chapter end notes.

“Anoctinum? If I could speak to you a moment.” 

He paused mid-step, and turned towards the familiar voice. He was surprised to see someone there he knew. It was.... what was his name been? “Ignis?” 

The tall gentleman pushed up his glasses and nodded. 

Confused more than anything, Prompto followed him into the small, neatly arranged office. The Lucian led him over to a set of armchairs facing one another and they both took a seat. "Tea?" He offered. 

Prompto shook his head. “No thank you, sir.” He wasn’t really a tea person. But goddamn did he miss coffee. Coffee was Forbidden for Scarlets, as it was shown to have negative effects on fertility. 

“This is going to be a very serious conversation,” Ignis said carefully, his expression grim. “If at any point you would like to cease, I urge you to say so. Do you understand?” 

Prompto felt his forehead puckering with confusion. A serious conversation? “Uh-huh.” 

Ignis, clearly uncomfortable, shifted in his seat and clasped his fingers in his lap. “His highness has recently learned that the situation with Scarlets in Accordo and Niflheim is much different than their position within Lucis; and he finds himself particularly uncomfortable with the news. He has asked me to speak with you.” 

Huh? How different could things actually be in Lucis? He dared a look up at the Ignis’s face, and found the expression to be a solemn, serious look. “...okay?” 

“First and foremost,” Ignis said, very carefully, “his highness wants to know if you wish to press charges for yesterday evening.” 

Press charges...? Against the Ceremony...? “ _Huh_?” He replied emphatically. 

A gloved hand lifted to push glasses back into place. “Rape charges, Anoctinum.” 

A startled, disbelieving laugh broke out of Prompto’s laugh as soon as the words hit. “I’m sorry, _what_?” His voice was bubbling with shocked laughter. 

The other cleared his throat uncomfortable. “He is distraught, and has asked me to offer you the opportunity. He is prepared to write a full confession and waive his diplomatic immunity.” 

He shook his head and pulled a bit of a face. “Even if... no judge would see the case.” 

“The Lucian supreme court would,” Ignis said, his voice reassuring. 

What the hell was even going on? “Yeah but he didn’t even... _dude_ ,” he said emphatically, the shock causing him to slip up with the formality he was _supposed_ to show to all superiors, “that’s so not what happened.” 

When he looked up at the other, his expression seemed... disapproving, and sceptical. “Lucian Handmaids explicitly choose to undertake their duty. They are allowed to decide whether or not to proceed with a couple. It does not excuse his behaviour, he stresses this, but he did not have prior knowledge as to the male Scarlets within Niflheim. With his new understanding of your situation, his highness believes that you are incapable of giving true enthusiastic consent—” 

“Dude,” he interrupted, feeling anger bubble in his guts. “That’s one of the rudest things anyone has ever _said_ to me. And I’m an orphan-turned-Empty.” 

“...your pardon?” Ignis asked carefully, confused by the statement. 

“Look...” How did he put this? “Lucis has whores, right?” 

Ignis’s expression twitched with something like offense. “Sex workers, yes.” 

“Would you say that they’re incapable of enthusiastic consent, or whatever you called it?” He demanded. 

Ignis’s lips pursed, a heavy line appearing between his eyebrows. “They consent to perform a service,” he pieced together carefully, “and regardless they can refuse to perform an act or with a person if the so desire.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Prompto huffed. “It’s not that different with me! And just because I was _made_ instead of _born_ , that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve the same rights and respect!” 

He took a moment to really, carefully consider the response, expression shifting with some kind of internal processing. “It’s not precisely the same,” he countered. “Sex workers choose that profession. Because of the circumstances of your birth, you were not given that choice.” 

Prompto clenched his fists, getting angry. “Seriously?!” He took a deep breath, sighed it out, counted to ten, and _made_ himself pick his words carefully. “You’re making me sound like some kind of... animal that’s incapable of making its own decisions.” 

“That is... not my intention,” Ignis replied carefully. “Let me clarify my perspective: you are unable to leave the service, nor pick whom and when you work.” 

“I could if I wanted to,” he argued. “You know they don’t _lock my door_ , right? If I wanted to leave, it’s as simple as walking out.” 

“You would be re-captured by the authorities,” Ignis pointed out. 

“Okay, yeah. But I wouldn’t be given back to the same couple if I did.” He’d be sent for ‘ _retraining_ ’, and sent to another family. “Three strikes, and an Empty is retired from service. They’d probably retrain me as an Aunt back at the facility.” There was one or two of the more... lively Empties back at the facility who’d become janitorial staff or shit like that. Still technically ‘Aunts’, but not as high rank as the other ones. 

The other’s lips pursed again. “And... you have chosen not to do that?” 

“...look,” he said carefully. “Despite what you believe, I _was_ given a choice. All of the Empties are given a choice - become Scarlets, or become Aunts and work at the facility. I chose to do this. Because I can do something most of the population can’t. People can create life through me. Do you know how amazing that is?” He swallowed, feeling a slightly flush in his cheek. “And... and it’s enjoyable. I didn’t know that before. But I would like to do it again.” 

Ignis gave him a long, contemplative look. “Very well. I will inform his highness about this conversation. It is likely he will be more... explicit about it being your decision to engage in intercourse now.” 

He shrugged. “He was pretty forward about that anyway. But. Okay. He should be comfortable too. Was that all?” He felt like he needed to go work out and work out the stress of this encounter. There was a Scarlet gym a few blocks away, and Maria would let him go if he asked. 

Ignis cleared his throat uncomfortable. “Mostly. I always want to inform you that his highness will be engaging a Niflheim Aunt with Lucian experience, to help ease you through the transition. It is coming to lights that the cultural differences between Niflheim and Lucis are vaster than I initially assumed.” 

Prompto nodded and stood. “Okay. Uh... thanks, I guess? Sorry you had to deal with this. It can’t have been a comfortable situation.”

Ignis pushed down his glasses and rubbed at both his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “That it is not. Enjoy your afternoon, Anoctinum. Do not hesitate to ask me if there is something I can do for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Patching:  
> 1.1 - Adjustments to fit this chapter to the new edits.  
> \- Some grammatical fixes.


	10. Chapter Eight

They didn’t stay in Altissia for very long. Less than a week, after the marriage. Long enough for him to get a doctor’s visit that confirmed that no, one time hadn’t been enough to get him pregnant. He guessed the prince wasn’t going to be happy with having to sleep with him again. 

The prince hadn’t even spoken to him since the Ceremony. Nor had Ignis, or the big guy (Glad something?) that he’d brought with him. To the point where the prince had come into a room Prompto was cleaning, only to turn on his heel and walk back out as soon as he spotted the Empty. 

Maybe he just wasn’t that kind of man. Maybe Ignis had told him what Prompto said about enjoying the ceremony and wanting to do it again, and was disgusted. It must have made him sound like a gender-traitor. Maybe he _was_ one. 

Princess Lunafreya still spoke to him, at least. She seemed very busy, but if they happened to be in the same room at the same time, she would always ask him about his day. 

He spent a lot of time in the gym. He liked the treadmill in front of the screen, that made him feel like he was running through a nature trail. It had been a long time since he’d been allowed to enjoy nature like that. 

The Facility was cold and stark and enclosed. They were allowed outside. For their own protection, of course, because it was located high up in the mountains where the weather was extreme. Or so they’d been told. 

Altissia was beautiful, but it was another city after all. There wasn’t much nature around, other than the water that flowed through everything. 

He wondered if he’d ever get to enjoy the wilderness of his youth again. Prince Noctis had to live in some big castle right? Probably in the middle of a city. There were those vague rumours about _The Wall_ too. Some barrier that protected citizens, but also kept them inside. 

Oh, well. He’d see for himself soon enough. On their last day, Prompto sought permission to go out to the Hexopolis to make offerings. Luna smiled and happily gave him a charge card. With a soft half-warning: “there’s no need to be so extravagant with your offerings this time. It’s not a Ceremony day.” 

Message received. He was honestly a little relieved by it. It hadn’t felt _right_ spending all that money when the same care and devotion hadn’t gone in to making the offerings. He could get the things _he_ liked – the hand-crafted, natural things. 

When he left, he got the same whispers and pointing he did whenever he left the house. Everybody knew who he was, at least when he was in that part of the city. When he got closer to the more communal areas, he could get away with blending in. Being just another Scarlet among the others. It was nice. 

He made money offerings to most of the gods, filled a little hand-made ( _heh! Hand-made_ ) boat with shells and herbs and a pastry for the Tidemother, and another giftbasket for Shiva. The priestess didn’t show up to drink the mulled wine with him that time, and he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

When he was finished, he took the steam-boat with the other Scarlets back to the city and took a long walk back to the princess’s home. 

Halfway through his walk, he drifted to a stop when he came across some familiar figures. The prince was there, with his retinue. The tall one noticed, almost immediately, that someone was watching them – and pointed Prompto out to Ignis. 

He left the prince’s side to come over. “Anoctinum?” 

Right. Wait... how had they known it was him? “Yeah,” he answered, bobbing into a polite bow. His eyes darted towards the prince and his bodyguard. “I didn’t know his highness fished,” he mumbled. 

“He’s an avid fisherman,” Ignis confirmed. “Were you looking for us?” 

He shook his head. “I didn’t know you guys would be here. I’m just coming back from the Hexopolis.” 

There was a slight tug of amusement at the man’s lips. “Ah. Am I to expect another large portion of his highness’s fortune to have tipped down a waterfall?” 

Prompto winced. “N-no,” he answered, tucking trembling hands behind his back. “I’m sorry. Maria said I was to make a big show of it. They don’t put _prices_ on their things. I... I’ll earn it back somehow.” 

There was an awkward pause. “By having the next heir, I suppose.” 

“Yeah. That. Maybe next month.” He gave a heavy sigh and muttered under his breath: “though it’ll be hard if he can’t even be in the same _room_ as me.” 

Ignis made a short “hm”, and Prompto couldn’t understand what he meant by the tone of it. When he spoke again, it wasn’t about that. “Will you wait? His highness won’t be much longer, and we can make the trip back together.” 

Prompto shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable,” he mumbled guiltily. 

He sighed heavily and a hand raised, probably to push up his glasses. “Then permit me to have Gladiolus escort you home.” Gladiolus. That was the guy. 

Prompto shook his head again. “Nah. It’s really fine. I’m just another Empty here, I’m not in any danger.” He pulled the cloak around him tighter, feeling somehow cold in the warm sun. “I’d better get back. I still have to pack for the trip tomorrow.” 

“Very well. Enjoy your walk, Anoctinum.” 

Before he left, there was some sort of commotion by the fishing spot. His highness had pulled up something, and was laughing with Gladiolus about whatever it was. He shifted to show Ignis, and Prompto’s breath caught as he spotted the object on the hook. 

It was a pearl necklace. Delicate, and feminine, three rows of black pearls with perfect roundness and lustre, mixed in a regular pattern towards the middle with dark sapphires and diamonds. A piece fit for a queen. It didn’t even look tarnished or covered in algae, for being fished out of the sea. 

“Anoctinum?” Ignis asked, concern in his voice. “Are you alright?” 

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “I better go. Lots to do. Good afternoon, Ignis.” He bobbed into a couple of quick bows – one to Ignis, and the second in the other two’s direction – before escaping the scene as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. 

How was _that_ possible?


	11. Chapter Nine

The capital city of Lucis was strange. He didn’t know what it was called Insomnia – Asleep Town seemed like a better name. 

The entire city was protected by a tall stone wall, so that it only got a handful of hours of sunlight during the day. As well as the wall, there was a huge dome of some kinda magic that filtered the sunlight to a dimmer colour. 

The streets themselves were almost creepily deserted. The outer sections of the city were dark and falling into disrepair. As they drove through from the bridge to the mainland, it was empty until they got closer to the centre. But even as they travelled through, there was so few people… Not like Altissia, where the streets crowded with people eager to see them off. Any people he did spot had their heads down, walking in almost like sleepwalkers to their destination. 

Everything seemed grey. The people wore dark tones with only muted colours, even their hair seemed to dark brown colours or the almost grey-brown like Ignis’s. The buildings were made of grey or white stones, electronic screens were either turned off or featured simple white text on black background. 

But as they began to reach the huge, brightly lit Citadel, he began to see some colour. One colour. The bright red of Handmaids, walking in pairs, heads bowed so the white wings of the headdresses obscured their faces. 

Prompto made a soft noise of understanding as they pulled through a pair of gates. Ignis, who was sitting beside him, glanced over. “Is everything okay, Anoctinum?” 

“Everything’s fine,” he said quickly. When Ignis only glanced at him again, he sighed and explained: “it’s nothing. I just realised why the prince was so weirded out when he found out I was blond.” 

Surprise momentarily crossed the guy’s expression, and he caught him studiously inspecting his eyebrows. The wings were sitting on Prompto’s lap, hiding his nervously trembling fists, so his eyebrows were visible with only the white cotton bonnet. 

Giving a soft laugh, Prompto slid one finger under the bonnet and untucked a lock of yellow hair as proof. 

Ignis gave a thoughtful hum, but was distracted from answering by the car slowing to a stop at the base of a huge, marble staircase. A black carpet was fitted over it, and they parked at the foot of it. The prince and princess were already half-way up the stairs, followed a couple steps down by Gladiolus. 

Feeling self-conscious, he shoved the lock of hair back into his bonnet. He swallowed nervously and put the wings back on his head, bowing his head to obscure his expression. 

Ignis stepped out the far side of the car. Prompto tried to copy the movement, but found the door handle swung through without opening the door. Had… had he been _child-locked_ in? 

Ignis circled around to open the door for Promtpo, who hid his angry expression beneath the wings. Ignis had said handmaids were treated better in Lucis. But apparently not treated well enough to be trusted to open his own door. 

Inside the citadel was dark and gloomy. Everything was black or grey or white, or dark wood, or a dull sort of gold that needed a good polish. The people milling about seemed to be black-clad guards, or servants in grey performing various chores. 

The royal couple disappeared through a set of fancy doors guarded by men in the black uniforms, and Prompto absently turned to follow him. In a smooth movement, Ignis stepped in his way. “Are you hungry, Anoctinum?” 

Got it. Not going with the royals. “No, I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“May I escort you to your room?” Ignis suggested instead. 

He sighed. “Yeah. Alright.” 

They quickly left the fancy-looking hallways to the plainer back halls where servants in grey ferried back and forth. He felt eyes on him as he walked through the hallways, the whispers in the Lucian language he wouldn’t understand even if they spoke loud enough for him to hear. 

The room Ignis eventually led him into was nice. Not large, but bigger than the attic room in Altissia. The furniture was made of pale wood, polished to a golden sheen. Up a small set of stairs was a raised platform draped in scarlet curtains. They were tucked aside on hooks to reveal a bed made up with white sheets and a dark red comforter embroidered with pearls in a floral pattern. 

He gestured to a set of doors. “The wardrobe and bathroom. You should have everything you need, but you need only simply ask, and we shall provide.” 

There was an armchair made of dark material with its back to the door, and Prompto startled when he saw someone stand up out of it. 

“Ah.” Ignis stepped between them. “Anoctinum, I’d like you to meet Aranea Highwind, the Aunt we’ve engaged to ease your transition into the Lucian culture.” 

He bobbed into a bow, keeping his eyes averted. “Good afternoon, Aunt Highwind.” 

“Aranea is fine.” 

“Aunt Aranea.” 

Ignis gave a low hum. “Well, I shall leave you to get settled in. Welcome to your new home, Anoctinum.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Prompto alone with the new aunt. 

“Remove your headdress,” she commanded, her voice unrelenting. 

He hurried to take off the wings, holding them in his hands before him. She circled around him and gave a low hum. “Stand up straight,” she commanded. He hurried to fix his posture, lifting his head up but keeping his eyes downturned. 

She hummed and resumed her seat, gesturing with a hand to the armchair with red fabric across the rug. “Sit.” 

Swallowing, he moved to sit, unable to relax back into the cushioned chair. 

“You’re the first Empty to belong to a Lucian,” she said. “Your position is important. You _must_ make a favourable impression. If people see how useful you are, a trade deal between our kingdoms can be formed. The Lucii need to see how beneficial Empties can be to rebuild their population. Do you understand?” 

He nodded. “Yes, Aunt Aranea.” He felt a heavy weight on his chest. The pressure of expectation. 

“Good.” She was quiet, watching him sternly for a long moment. “You will be taking lessons daily, in Lucian culture and language. An exercise routine and diet will be formed for you, which you will follow exactly. You will take daily trips into the city with your assigned partner, and you will be on your best behaviour while out. You will obedient to what any citizen tells you, and attentive to the needs of your wife and husband. Most importantly, you will be expected to become pregnant, and _soon_.” 

He pulled a face at that, and dared to look up at her. “That’s not exactly something I can control, Honoured Aunt.” 

“Mind your tone,” she warned disapprovingly. 

Prompto swallowed down a tight feeling building in his throat. “Is this how all Handmaids are treated in Lucis?” 

She gave him a cool look. “ _You_ are not a Handmaid. You’re an _Empty_.” She straightened the white fabric of her overskirt. “Now. Your first lesson in Lucian. The phrase you’ll use most often: yes, sir.” 


	12. Chapter Ten

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. 

Twenty-one dawn wake-ups. Forty-two tasteless but apparently nutrient-rich meals. Sixty-three glasses of a disgusting green juice that made him gag to swallow down. 105 hours of language and culture lessons with Aunt Aranea. 630 minutes of prescribed exercise. 504 hours of mind-numbing boredom and repetition. 10 walks with his handmaid partner to the market to exchange ration tickets for food. 3 visits to the Citadel’s shared temple on Feast Days to sit through droning, long prayers he couldn’t understand. 2 doctor’s visits for blood draws and examinations to make sure he was in best health. Exactly _zero_ interactions with Prince Noctis. 

The best part of his time were the walks he got to take with Anyvna. His handmaid partner. She belonged to someone named Nyx, who glared at Prompto warily whenever he came to her door to pick her up. 

She was about the same height as him, with a slim but curved figure fitted by the scarlet fabric. He hadn’t seen her face, but she chatted to him through-out their walks. She had an open, friendly voice, and the cutest accent. It was drawling and twangy. He could barely understand anything she said, even as he learned how to recognise and parrot different phrases of Lucian. He liked her, quite a bit. 

But twenty-one days had passed, and that meant it was time for The Ceremony again. 

At least he could come here to actually do what he was meant to. All the shit he was going through would be worth it if he could be successful. Hopefully in might get Aunt Aranea off his back too. 

Anyvna in tow, though it wasn’t her time for the Ceremony, he headed out to the west of the city where the Tidemother’s temper was located. Ignis drove, and he chatted with Anyvna. Prompto listened and whenever he recognised a phrase or a word he knew, he whispered the whole sentence to himself. 

“You seem quiet,” Ignis said to him, switching to Niflmal, as the journey continued through ghost-towns of neighbourhoods. “Are you nervous, Anoctinum?” 

He shook his head and answered in his best Lucian: “ _No. I’m fine, thank you, Chancellor Scientia_.” 

Ignis glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “Your Lucian is coming along well,” he said, an unreadable tone in his voice. “Ms Highwind is teaching you?” 

He nodded, averting his eyes away from the mirror. He had to change back to Niflmal, his grasp on the local tongue failing him to the depth of this conversation. “Aunt Aranea devotes five hours a day to my ‘ _localization_ ’,” he explained. Like he was some video game that needed to be translated to fit in to the new audience. 

A low hum was the only answer he got. The car pulled into an almost-empty lot outside a plain-looking temple devoted to the fourth Astral. The city belonged to Bahamut, so his temple was probably as elaborate as the Tidemother’s had been in Altissia. 

Maybe that’s why Altissia was abundant while Insomnia’s withered away. Because the temple was plain and crumbling and only stepped down into a bay instead of a sea. Maybe the Tidemother didn’t feel like sharing her gifts with a place that thought so little of them. 

Aunt Aranea had given him the statistics. In a population of a thousand there were currently a hundred Handmaids working in Insomnia. Only three hundred children, only a hundred and thirty of which were girls. Out of those, who many would end up fertile? How many of those would _want_ to become Handmaids? 

It didn’t take a mathematician to know it wouldn’t be long until the city died unless they changed something. She seemed to think their duty was to prove that Empties were the key. To get the king and the population to see that it would advantage _them_ to trade for Empties with the Empire. To open the borders for fresh blood. 

The car pulled to a stop at the doors of the temple. Ignis kept the engine running. “I will await your exit. Princess Lunafreya advised that you may wish to visit the Temple of the Glacian afterwards?” 

He nodded and, in Lucian, murmured: “ _yes, please, Chancellor Scientia_.” 

Ignis applied the parking break without a word and stepped out to open the door for him. Child locked again, probably. He stepped out, feeling a little woozy on his feet from hunger. It had been a full twenty-four hours since he ate actual food. He’d had his disgusting green drink before bed, but this morning the only thing he’d been allowed to have was a truly disgusting tea and water. 

Anyvna slid out after him and wrapped her arm through Prompto’s. She said something to Ignis, who bowed the them both and climbed back into the car. 

She led Prompto into the temple. The interior looked as if it had once been elaborate and decadent, but everything had been pilfered – even the gold out of the carvings in the marble. He felt sad just seeing it. 

Anyvna led him to the antechamber and stepped across to a locker to undress. She took off her headdress and Prompto made a surprised noise that had her turning to look at him. She had blond hair too, but her hair was a disarray of mussed curls. When she looked at him, her eyes were a jewel-green. 

He felt his cheeks heat with a blush and turned to undress. In Insomnia, they didn’t walk naked into the water – they wore white toga-like things that draped to their ankles. Dressed and secretly glad he didn’t have to see Anyvna naked, he picked up the offering he’d brought to the temple and headed out into the water. 

The submerged stone was slippery with algae, and he had to cling on to the banister to keep himself afloat. The water was icy cold, but it didn’t feel welcome like Shiva’s ice. It felt uncaring, unempathetic. Trembling, he uncapped the bottle of wine and poured it out into the water. He murmured prayers and pleas for her offerings through chattering teeth. 

He’d picked pearls free of a cushion in order to get a decent offering together, and tracked down Ignis to ask for the wine and pastries. The boat was only folded cardboard, and it quickly sunk beneath the water. But he’d done what he could. 

After it disappeared into the murky grey water, Anyvna touched his shoulder. Nodding, he followed her back out of the water. He saw the white fabric of the toga to her pale pink skin. Her breasts were perky and firm, nipples hard and peaked underneath the fabric. Her waist was lender, and her hips... He swallowed as she turned slightly, and he saw the fabric clinging to her rounded stomach. 

“ _You’re_...” He stumbled. He didn’t have that word in Lucian yet. Instead he mimed the roundness over his own stomach. 

She beamed widely and nodded, and continued to talk to him eagerly – probably about her progress – as they dried and changed back into their Scarlets. 

He felt overwhelmed by the knowledge of it as they drove across the city on a direct road to the Glacian’s Temple. 

The city itself was built around the six-pointed star of the Hexatheon. Roads forming the lines that connected Bahamut to Titan, Titan to Shiva, Shiva to Leviathan, Leviathan to Ifrit, Ifrit to Ramuh, and Ramuh back to Bahamut – with the wall encircling them and the Citadel in the centre. It would have made sense, then, for the city to worship all six equally. But this city belonged to the Draconian. 

Shiva’s temple, when they came to it, was just as run down and in ill-repair as the Leviathan’s had been. Were they all this run down? Most of the city went to worship at the Citadel’s temple for the weekly Feast Day. But... surely... 

“ _Chancellor Scientia_?” He called, quietly interrupting the silence that had fallen over the car. Anyvna was quiet, one hand rubbing the curve of flesh under her dress that Prompto now saw as obvious. 

“ _Yes, Anoctinum_?” He returned, in Lucian. 

He needed Niflmal to ask. It felt like his lessons were going nowhere. “Do people not... visit these temples?” He asked. 

Ignis’s expression was serious, as he pulled the car to a stop outside the doors. “Most of Insomnia’s worship takes place inside the Citadel,” he answered carefully. “The temples are reserved for the Astrals’ Sabbaths and large ceremonies." 

So... no. People didn’t. He nodded and picked up the holly wreath and thermos of mulled wine for his offering. “ _Thank you, Chancellor Scientia_ ,” he murmured, and waited for him to get out and open the car door. Anyvna stayed in the car. 

It wasn’t cold in the temple. He stripped down to his white underwear, and there were no layers to add. 

It was just as summer-warm in the inner chamber as it had been in the Leviathan’s. Had Shiva abandoned this place too? He set the wreath on the tree stump and poured two mugs of mulled wine. He felt it warm him to the tips of his fingers and muddy his brain, even a few sips in. His tongue felt heavy and his thoughts felt like they were wrapped in cotton by the time the mug was empty. 

He tipped the wine onto the stump and the maroon red begin to sink into the wood. There was only a few stains there already. This place must have been almost abandoned since the yearly log. 

It made him sad. His eyes watered beyond his control as he dressed and headed back out to the car. He wished he could _do_ something about it. About the Astrals left to crumble on the edges of a dying city. 

But he had his part to play. He had to keep the city alive, birth what little new life he could into it. He nodded firmly to his reflection in the tinted window, head rested against the glass that peaked out into a crumbling city. 

Back in the Citadel, Aunt Aranea stood outside the bathroom and timed him to exact seconds. Clean and slick and plugged and ringed, he was deposited into the fancy silk red robes – and then escorted to the princess’s bedroom. 

She smiled at him as he entered and knelt on the pearl-encrusted cushion, but they sat in silence as they waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

There was a quiet knock on the door, and when Lunafreya called permission, it was Ignis who stepped into the room. His expression was reserved, unreadable, as he announced that “his highness sends his apologies, but he is unwell and will be unable to attend tonight’s ceremony.” 

The princess’s expression was cool as she asked a question in Lucis. Prompto picked up the gist of it: “ _he seemed fine earlier._ ” 

Ignis’s lips twitched, and he said a low “quite”, before bowing and letting himself back out. 

The princess sighed and stood, smoothing down the white skirt of her nightgown. “You may return to your room, Anoctinum.” 

He stood and walked out, keeping his head bowed to avoid what was probably a murderous expression on Aunt Aranea’s face. This? This was _not good_. 


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for:  
> Non-consensual drug use (sedating). Physical abuse as punishment, mental abuse, imprisonment.

Prompto felt groggy and strange when he woke up. His thoughts felt fuzzy, just out of reach, like too much mulled wine on an empty stomach. What had he done yesterday?

It took so long for him to rope the thoughts in enough to remember, mumbling wordlessly in frustration at himself. And then, he remembered: 

Another month in Lucis, another failed Ceremony. Ignis appearing as Princess Lunafreya began to sigh impatiently, to apologise for His Highness. He was sick – again! – and wouldn’t be able to make it. Prompto was sick of it. Sick of his time being wasted. He was twenty-two now, and he only had eight or so years of being in his prime. It was Fall now. Almost two whole months had been wasted with a couple whose husband, it seemed, had no interest in breeding him. 

If he was in Altissia or Niflheim or Tennebrae, he’d just simply run away. It was a strike on his record, and one step closer to being decommissioned, but it would be better than wasting away here. But he didn’t know how things worked here.

He had to ask Ignis as soon as possible. Alone. Perhaps he could ask to be taken to Glacian’s temple, on account of some troubling dreams. The beautiful Anyvna was six months along now, and had officially been cleared of household duties, so there wouldn’t be time to organise him a new partner. 

Was it wrong to be so angry and jealous towards the Handmaid? He’d met Nyx, and if he wasn’t very affectionate toward Anyvna, he was at least friendly with her. She was doing what he wished he could do, what he’d literally been _made_ to do. What he couldn’t do because the Prince had no interest in him. 

He sighed with anger. But it slipped away into the fuzziness of his mind with the rest of his thoughts. His ear itched, and he absently moved his hand to scratch it. But the hand in question didn’t respond. With a frustrated mumble, he reached his other hand across to scratch the top of his ear. 

It stung with pain when his finger touched it, and with a hiss, he explored the skin. There was some sort of ring passed through the curl of his inner ear where it attached to his head, and it throbbed with agony as his fingertip brushed it. 

“Ah-ah!” a voice scolded, and pulled his hand away harshly. “We don’t want it to get an infection.” 

That voice. He knew that voice. Aunt Aranea? Why did it sound like it was coming from underwater? He opened his eyes. Or tried to. They were heavier than lead, and with all his concentration he only managed to crack one eye open enough to peer at her through his pale lashes. 

Her face was stone-cold. “The sedative should be wearing off soon. But while you’re unable to do anything else, you can lie there and listen.” 

He opened his lips, gasping in breath. “Aunt—”

Pain ripped through him and he broke off, eyes watering in pain. 

“Yes, that,” she replied calmly. “I had Besithia send me something to force you to improve.” She tapped her own ear, in the same place where he had felt he had a piercing now. “It doesn’t cause actual pain, but you will think it does. No harm to your body, just punishment for you.” She looked down at him. “First, if you try to speak any language other than Lucian.” 

He gritted his teeth, trying to drag out the part of his brain where he could think of the foreign words. “ _Aunt Aranea_...” 

“Better.” She reached forward and pushed his jaw up with one finger to keep it closed. “But right now you are to _listen_.” She waited one moment to make sure he was staying quiet, then removed her hand. “It’s fitted with a locator, and unless I press a button to give permission, you will be unable to leave this room.” 

He managed to creak his eyes open to give her a desperate look. _Why was she doing this?_

“Don’t look at me like that. You had one very simple job, Thirteen-eight-seven. To get the weak little Lucian prince to knock you up. It was the only thing you were expected to do, and you fucked that up.” 

But that wasn’t his fault. He grit his teeth together and hissed out one of the first phrases he’s learned. “ _My name is Anoctium._ ”

She snorted. “You can have a name back once you’ve _earned_ it, Thirteen-eighty-seven.” She hummed. “Now, where was I? Ah. Yes.” She tapped at her ear again to show what she meant: “it’s also sending out signals to increase your hormones, make sure you’re prime and ready when the prince gets to you.” 

He felt his head clearing, and started to sit up. But his hand jerked and kept him still. He glanced over and saw it bound in a padded cuff to the headboard. “What the—” And then he seethed in pain again as he was punished for speaking Niflmal. 

“Relax. I’ll release you when I’m finished talking.” 

Gritting his teeth, he lay back down on the mattress and glared up at her. She raised her eyebrows and held up a little remote with a button – she pressed it down with her thumb and the pain tore through him again. “I can also activate the punishment manually,” she offered needlessly. 

He dropped his eyes down, not daring to meet her eyes, fighting to rearrange his expression into something blank. 

“Better. Now, until I’ve managed to fix this mess you’ve mad with his royal bratiness, you’ll remain inside this room. You’ll be on half-rations, and your bathroom privilege times have been reduced.” She straightened the fabric of her skirt, then reached over to unlatch the cuff. 

He jumped forward as much as he could, swinging his fist in her direction. She looked almost bored as she just took a step back and watched him topple forward onto the bed. “You’re feisty, I’ll give you that.” And then she pressed down on the button. 

When the mind-numbing pain stopped, she was closing the bedroom door behind her. He stumbled over to yank on the handle, but he wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Instead he turned so his back was against the door and let his legs give out until he slid down to the ground. 

  


He quickly lost track of the days. He’d tried counting, but somewhere around the fifth day he couldn’t remember if it had been four or five days stuck in the room, and gave up counting. If he thought his routine before had been boring, he was the wrongest he’d ever been. 

At dawn, he assumed, since he couldn’t see any light coming through the firmly shuttered windows, Aunt Aranea came in with his breakfast. One slice of toast and a hard-boiled egg, and the green drink that somehow tasted even more disgusting since the aunt had decided that was where he was getting all his nutrients from. She watched him to make sure he drank to the last drop, then left him alone. 

Alone. He spent so much time alone. 

He cleaned the room as best as he could, opened the glass of the windows all the way to coax _any_ fresh air in. Then he exercised as best as he could – pacing around the room and up-and-down the stairs to his bed, doing press ups on the edge of the bed. Tried not to let himself waste away to nothing. 

Lunch at exactly noon, when the light touched the tiny mark he’d scratched into the floorboards to judge time. A bowl of watery broth – sometimes garula, sometimes chickatrice, sometimes vegetable, always unsatisfying – and a second slice of bread. Another glass of foul green juice. 

Then she taught him his Localization lessons. Even if he couldn’t speak anything else, his progress through Lucian was slow and painful. Then she supervised his bath, making sure he didn’t spend longer than the fifteen minutes he was now allowed, and sent him to bed. 

Once the door was locked up tightly, he counted to one hundred – in Lucian - and then slid out of bed. In the third morning of mind-numbing boredom, he’d found a secret hiding place in the back of the wardrobe, underneath the shoe rack. A loose floorboard. 

When he pried it open, he’d found a tin full of paper photographs and some sort of device that took and printed the paper photographs automatically. 

Every night, he crept into the bathroom where a panel of the shutters was broken off and let in a patch of moonlight. He studied the figures in the photographs – a dark-haired woman with a brilliant smile, holding a small boy with dark hair as he got bigger and older. He didn’t know why these photos meant so much to him. 

Maybe it was because he’d never had a mother, never had someone hold him like he was precious. He spent long hours memorizing every detail of the photographs – longer than he should of, given his sunrise wake up call. But he stayed in the bathroom until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and then he stashed the photographs away in their tin and hid them back under the floorboards. 

Then he tucked himself back into the bed to sleep. Start the whole cycle again. 


	14. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters? In one night? That's a lot even for me. But this stuff just wrote itself. I didn't even know it was going in this direction until now.
> 
> Anyway, warnings:  
> The abuse from the previous chapter continues.

At some point, Aunt Aranea dressed him in his neatest robes and walked him down to the Temple. Feast day, apparently. He knelt through the whole service, picking up words here and there he thought he knew. But when he stood, the room gave a dangerous lurch and he fell forward. 

He was caught in strong arms, and when the sparkles cleared from his vision, he saw Sir Amicitia – the younger – looking down at him with a confused frown. “ _You okay there Anoctinum_?” The gruff voice asked. 

He could almost sense Aranea behind him, going for the remote in her pocket. He hurriedly nodded, hating the wild spin it sent through his head. “ _Fine_ ,” he answered. He searched for the words for the lie. “ _I have Shiva feet_?” “ _Numb feet_ ,” Aranea corrected, her lips turning down in disapproval. “Apologise to Sir Amicitia.” 

He swallowed and tried to steady himself on his own feet. “ _Sorry, Sir Amicitia. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you._ ”

The scarred forehead furrowed into a scowl. He gave a silent nod. “ _It was nothing._ ”

Aunt Aranea stepped up beside him and put her hand on his arm. The fingers dug in just a little tight. “ _If you’ll excuse us, Sir Amicitia,_ ” she said, her voice almost...flirtatious. “ _We have a doctor’s appointment this morning._ ”

Sir Amicitia’s face was perfectly neutral as he nodded and stepped aside to let them out of the pew. But Prompto couldn’t help but feel like the crown prince’s Shield (whatever that was) followed them with his eyes the whole way out of the temple.

The doctor’s appointment wasn’t a lie. The doctor only spoke to Aunt Aranea, and Prompto couldn’t focus on the words long enough to try and understand them. 

He felt woozy from the blood taken, and he stopped in the hallway to press his hand against the wall to steady himself. The aunt clucked her tongue impatiently, but before she could scold him, Princess Lunafreya appeared around the corner. 

“Oh no, Prompto. Are you feeling well?” She asked, touching his forehead in concern. 

He shook his head, even though he’d face the aunt’s wrath about it as soon as they were alone. “...dizzy...” He managed out, and winced at the pain that shot through him at the Niflmal word. 

“We’re waiting on some results from the doctor,” Aranea said, her voice friendly and open like he’d never heard it. “I’ve seen this before in other Empties, however. Usually it means their hormones are in flux.” A really convenient excuse, Prompto figured. “I’ll take him back to his rooms, and then we really ought to have a discussion about scheduling a Ceremony soon...” 

Princess Lunafreya shook her head and gave a gentle, though unrelenting smile. “Nonsense. My tea room is closer, we’ll go there.” 

Aunt Aranea couldn’t argue. On her arm, Prompto shuffled the way down the hall to a bright and airy sitting room. The walls were mostly glass, and pushed open to let in a flower-scented breeze. 

Her highness guided him over to a chaise lounge and softly bid him to lie down and rest his eyes. He sunk into the chair gracefully, but didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he turned to look out the window at the garden of beautiful blue flowers outside. 

The ladies spoke to each other over tea. Basic pleasantries – the weather, and such – at first. And then the princess said very pleasantly: “I haven’t seen Anoctinum about the Citadel these days. I have to say, I’ve missed our little chats.” 

Aunt Aranea sipped her tea, and answered equally pleasantly: “We’ve been very focused on our language and culture lessons recently.” 

“I hope you’re not overworking him,” she responded, stirring her little cup with a silver spoon. “That wouldn’t be kind.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of putting him through something more than he can handle.” 

“Hm.” 

They went back to boring small talk, and Prompto let his eyes fall closed for just a moment. 

He startled away when he heard a knock on the door, and the princess’s invitation to enter. 

“ _Doctor_ ,” Aranea greeted, her tone extremely pleasant. “ _I wasn’t expecting you to come here._ ”

The doctor answered, something about the princess? The two ladies ‘argued’ in a way that was trying to out polite each other, and it seemed the decision was that they would both hear the news. Aranea came to wake Prompto, so she could translate the results. 

“As suspected,” said the doctor, or so Aranea reported, “Anoctinum appears to have entered a fertile cycle. Similar hormones to the sort of levels when I would recommend a Handmaid participate in The Ceremony.” 

The ring was working then, making his body flooded with hormones to make him prime for princely spunk. Except the prince didn’t want to look in his damn direction. 

Aranea, it seemed, had been trying to hurry the conversation to a close, so it was the princess who translated the next set of information to Niflmal for Prompto’s benefit. “You also have low iron, and vitamin D,” she explained to Prompto in a soft voice. “He recommends daily walks in the gardens, and more red meat and leafy greens.” 

He smiled at her, grateful. “ _Thank you, your highness._ ” 

She seemed surprised to hear him speaking Lucian instead of Niflmal. But she didn’t question it, until the doctor had gone. “Your Lucian is improving, Anoctinum.” 

He repeated the thanks again. 

“Are you enjoying your lessons?” She pressed. 

He paused, trying to piece together an answer - and as he stuttered through half-phrases in the foreign tongue, the princess spoke kindly: “You can speak Niflmal with me, Anoctinum. It’s more comfortable for us both.” 

He darted an anxious glance in Aranea’s direction, but she merely regarded him calmly over the rim of her teacup. “ _I speak Lucian,_ ” he worked out carefully. 

“What do you mean, dear?” The princess pressed. 

He darted another glance at Aranea. Pleading for her to intervene. He didn’t have the right words to explain. 

The aunt set down her cup and smiled. “We’ve agreed that to immerse him in the language better, he’ll only speak in Lucian now. He’s made a lot of progress since we started.” 

Princess Lunafreya made a soft hum of acknowledgement and brought her teacup to her lips to sip. 

“Your highness, about the doctor’s recommendation about The Ceremony...” She began, in a delicate tone of voice. 

“Yes,” the princess answered. “I’ll discuss the matter with Noctis tonight. But unless I inform you otherwise, The Ceremony will be conducted tomorrow night.” She gave a polite smile. “Will that be enough time to gather appropriate offerings, Anoctinum?” 

He nodded, feeling oddly numb. The Ceremony. Tomorrow night. 

Just what he needed right now. 

Great. 

“ _Yes, your highness._ ”


	15. Chapter Twelve-and-a-House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of the same abuses in previous chapters is present in this one.

Noctis was almost finished the damn water temple when Gladio came in, walked in between him and the TV, took up the remote and turned it off in the middle of a jump. “Gladio, I swear to the gods—” 

“There’s something going on with your Empty.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Noct said, “we’re calling them Scarlets.” 

“Bullshit, they call themselves Empties, we can as well.” He folded his arms, biceps bulging against the fabric of his jacket. The muscle in his jaw twitched, showing how agitated he really was. 

Noct sighed in annoyance and put the controller aside. “I don’t talk about this shit. If you’re concerned, talk to Highwind.” 

Gladio reached forward and grabbed the collar of Noct’s shirt, using it to yank him up to his feet. His legs kicked a little until he found his footing, and then he glared, hard, at his Shield. 

Gladio ignored the look. “Listen here you little punk. You’ve been a spoilt, selfish brat about this whole thing and I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen anymore. Anoctinum is _your_ Empty, and _your_ responsibility. You’re gonna man the _fuck_ up and deal with this like a goddamn adult!” 

The door opened, and a familiar measured step sounded before the door closed again. “Gladiolus, my dear honey maker, please put his highness down.” 

Gladiolus huffed and dropped Noct back down onto the couch. “Iggy, I’ve asked you not to call me that in front of other people.” 

“I know.” 

Noct reached over for the remote, but Ignis moved the remote further out of his reach and sat on the coffee table in front of him. “I’ve just come from a very serious conversation with the princess regarding your Scarlet.” 

He groaned and slung an arm over his face. “Not you too.” 

“Too?” His advisor echoed. 

He gestured lazily in Gladio’s direction. “That’s why _your dear honey maker_ here is manhandling me.” 

Instead of a good-natured groan like he expected, there was silence. “Why don’t you begin, Gladio,” Ignis said carefully. “Her highness mentioned that you were the one who suggested she might ‘run into’ them.” 

Gladiolus took a seat in the large armchair that was almost exclusively his. Noct could hear the frame creaking under his bulk. “I took Iris to temple this morning. It was her Feast Day. Anoctinum was there, with Highwind.” 

Ignis gave his low ‘ _I am carefully considering this information and cannot currently comment_ ’ hum. 

Gladio spoke again spoke. “According Iris, it’s the first Feast Day he’s been to in three weeks.” 

Noct lifted his arm off his face to glare at them. “Why does it matter if he missed a few sermons?” 

Ignis gave him an irritable look. Lips pursed, he took off his specs to polish the already-spotless lenses. “Because it’s a change in character, highness. Anoctinum has previously attended all the Feast days. And spent time tending to the Altar of the Glacian on hers.” 

“Glacian?” Noct asked, bored. 

“She’s his patron astral, according to her highness,” Ignis answered, sliding his spectacles back on. “They usually tend the altar together. She asked Highwind why he was missing last week and apparently he was sick.” 

“So, what’s unusual about that?” 

“Nothing on its own,” he continued. “But it is surmounting evidence. I consulted the doctor, after I spoke with the princess. Highwind didn’t notify him whatsoever about a recent illness, and his white count was normal.” 

“So? Maybe he ate something that disagreed with him.” 

“A perfectly reasonable explanation,” Ignis answered flatly. 

“And one I’m sure Aranea would be happy to give you, if you asked.” There was something bitter and sarcastic in Gladio’s tone of voice. 

Noctis looked in between the two of them. “…go on, then.” 

Gladio folded his arms over his chest. “We sat next to them at the service, I don’t think Anoctinum even knew I was there. When we got up to leave, he basically fainted into my arms.” 

Ignis pursed his lips and nodded. 

“I asked him if he was okay, he told me only had numb feet.” 

“But?” 

“But he _looked_ out of it. When you do physical training, you get an eye out for people who look dazed.” His jaw clenched, muscle twitching. “She made him apologise. For falling on me. It was about the only thing he pronounced _correctly_. Practiced, almost.” 

Ignis linked his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “His courtesies have always been better rehearsed. Then you went to the princess?” 

He nodded. “I figured she’d be able to talk to him without the language barrier, and it would be more natural if she ran into him, rather than you.” 

Ignis nodded. “She did catch them. On the way out of the doctor’s office. He looked white as a ghost and he couldn’t stand up on his own, in her words. Highwind seemed determined to take him back to his rooms, but her highness took him to her conservatory instead.” He removed his hands and sat back against the coffee table. “He passed out almost as soon as he lay down. Didn’t move until Aranea woke him when the doctor came in.” 

“So he’s sick, what’s the big deal?” Noct snapped impatiently. He didn’t want to talk about the Scarlet. He wanted to go back to playing his video game. 

“As I explained earlier. He’s not sick. Not with an illness, anyway.” Ignis pushed up his spectacles. “There’s an unusual flux of hormones in his blood stream. Low iron, almost no vitamin D. But low glucose, regular white blood cell, other vitamins and minerals were more regular.” Before Noct could snap at him again, he continued: “I took the liberty of asking the kitchen what they send up for his meals.” 

“And? Not enough vegetables?” Noct asked with a familiar sneer. 

Ignis shot him a glare. “Two meals a day. A slice of toast, a hard-boiled egg and broth. And a truly horrendous juice made of basically every vegetable in stock. They are under the impression he’s had stomach complaints. _Since The Ceremony_.” 

Gladio’s hands bunched into tight fists. “She’s all but starving him?” 

“Enough to avoid malnourishment. The low Vitamin D… Pregnant Handmaids often get it once they have excused from their daily walks. I checked with Aunt Monica – he hasn’t been assigned a new walking partner since Nyx’s girl finished up.” He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of the table. “Nor has anyone seen him around the Citadel.” 

“Imprisonment and extreme dieting,” Gladio growled, the armrests creaking under his fists. “She’s probably dosing him with hormones too. Wouldn’t put it past her.” 

“There’s more,” Ignis said, his expression cold as stone. “I wouldn’t put psychological abuse past her either.” He drummed his fingers again, agitated. “Princess Lunafreya noticed something worrisome regarding his speech. I suspect she’s not allowing him to speak Niflmal at all.” 

“He’s not _good enough_ for that!” Gladio growled. 

“When her highness gave him permission to speak it, she said he kept giving the aunt terrified looks. Only then did Highwind explain that ‘ _they_ ’ decided he should only speak Lucian. For better immersion.” 

Gladio sniffed in disgust. “She beating him too?” 

“The doctor didn’t make a physical examination,” he answered. “But given his role, I doubt she’d risk it. Not when the prince could see it at any time.” 

Noct felt lost. Adrift at see in a leaking boat, with a stormfront coming over. Lost and useless. They’d told Anoctinum things were better for Handmaids here in Lucis. And then they’d let this happen. 

He swallowed thickly. “So what do we do?” 

“Gladiolus and I will work with the princess on freeing him from her control. But you?” Ignis replied, a disapproving tone of voice the only thing Noct could read from him. “You do your part. Stop making things worse for him.” He pushed up his spectacles. “Her highness has arranged another Ceremony tomorrow night. You _will_ attend.” 

He swallowed, the familiar tight, sick feeling twisting up in his stomach. “I _can’t_ , Specs. You _know_ I can’t.” 

“Grow up, kid,” Gladio spat. “You think Lunafreya wants to put up with it? Or Anoctinum wants to spread his legs for you? You all swore your oaths. This isn’t _about_ you!” 

As if _that_ would make him feel better. Feeling sick, he turned his face away. “Fuck off, Gladio. I said I _can’t_.” 

Ignis reached forward and touched his knee. “You need to try, Noct. There is more at stake than you have accounted for.” 

He shuddered, fighting down the bile that crawled up his throat. “What if I can’t?” His fists clenched in his pants. “It hasn’t been long enough yet…” 

Ignis looked at him seriously, lips turning down into a frown. “You have to find a way to make it work, Noct. You simply must.” 

He knocked Ignis’s hand of his knee and stood. “I hate you. All of you.” 


	16. Chapter Thirteen

When Prompto looked up from the pearls embroidered on the pillow to the opening door, he was genuinely surprised to see Prince Noctis walking through. He was positive it would be Ignis again, coming to deliver yet another apology. But it was the Prince himself. 

He closed the door and nodded to Luna, keeping his eyes averted away from Prompto entirely. He muttered a very insincere “ _sorry I’m late,_ ” in lazy, surprisingly common Lucian, and went to pour himself a drink of tea from the end table by the window.

The princess stood, gave Prompto and a pretty smile, and sat back on the bed. He glanced at the prince, but even when he saw his wife laying on the bed, he didn’t move away from the window. 

_Guess I’m undressing myself tonight then?_ He would’ve said it aloud to her, tried to break the tension. But he didn’t know half those words, let alone how to phrase it properly. Instead he just reached for the bow behind his back, giving it a tug to unravel. The pants slid down his legs. Goosebumps peaked across his skin from how good the silk felt against it.

“Why don’t you come here, Anoctinum?” She invited him. The familiar tones of Niflmal felt like balm on his soul. She’d said it almost the same way the first (the _only_ ) time they’d done this. Was it part of the Lucian ritual? 

He climbed onto the bed beside her, moved between her legs to lie against her chest. He propped up his knees, spread his legs apart, eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure that sparked through him as the plug tugged against his sensitive rim. 

The hormones had worked, as well, to make him more sensitive down there, plump and ready for sex. He was tempted to find his own prostate, the sensitive places, get himself off before Aunt Aranea locked on the ring. But she’d knocked loudly on the door, reminding him impatiently of the time, and he hadn’t had the opportunity. 

“Noctis,” the princess said, her voice patient. “ _We’re ready. You can begin._ ” 

Prompto rolled his head a little so he could see the prince. He took a deep breath and set down his tea cup, turning to them. Prompto tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the pretty blue eyes darted away from him quickly. 

The prince crossed the room, standing at the end of the bed. He looked up at the bed canopy as he unbuckled his belt and undid his fly. One hand slipped inside, and a familiar jerking motion followed. Prompto tried hard not to be insulted that he wasn’t hard. He’d been eager last time, but maybe he had lost interest. Maybe that was why he hadn’t come any of the other times. 

The moment dragged on just a little too long. “Noctis?” The princess asked, her voice soft. 

He just grunted and clenched his jaw. He pulled the waistband of his pants and underwear down a little, revealing the fist around his limp dick. A few steady pumps followed, the motion practiced and familiar... 

But the flesh didn’t react. An angry flush was building on the pale, high cheekbones. _Oh..._

This really must be disgusting to him. Prompto glanced up at the princess, whose face was furrowing in concern. He sat up a little. “ _Your highness_?” He asked, in his clearest Lucian. A simple phrase Aranea had made him practice for five full hours until she was satisfied. “ _Should I...?_ ” He trailed off, because even if he had the words to convey what he might have offered, he had no idea what he should do to help. If his help would be more of a hindrance. 

“ _Don’t_!” the prince hissed. He closed his eyes tight, rolled his shoulders to try and loosen them, and put more effort into pumping the soft dick. 

And to think Prompto had wondered if he was a gender traitor. When he was so disgusted by the act, he couldn’t even force a boner. 

Prompto glanced back at the princess, but she wasn’t looking. She was looking at the far wall, her face folded up in sorrow. 

This was awful. How could he be so selfish? Neither of them wanted this, wanted him. And instead of freeing them, he was trapping him into this hell. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, hating the heavy feeling of guilt in his stomach. 

Reaching out carefully, he wrapped his hand around the prince’s wrist and halted it in place. “ _It’s okay,_ ” he said, trying to steady his voice. “ _I’m fine_.” When those beautiful blue eyes open, and focused on his face, he gave a gentle, reassuring smile. “ _It’s okay._ ” He repeated. 

The prince made an angry, distressed noise, half strangled in his throat. The belt clanged as he yanked his pants back up and fastened them. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Prompto sat, frozen, his arm outstretched where it had been making contact with the prince. His fingers tingled, and he slowly closed his fist, dropping it to his lap. “ _Oh_.” 

Princess Lunafreya moved off the bed, heading towards the door. Prompto glanced around. “ _Should I... _?” He said, just like before.__

____

“Stay here,” she instructed softly, in her sweetly accented Niflmal. “I need to speak to Noctis, but please wait for me to return.” When he nodded, she headed through the door. 

____

He sat on the bed awkwardly for a long moment. Aunt Aranea was going to be furious. Who knew what punishment she’d come up with next, how she’d make things worse with this new failure. It was his fault, obviously. He was too male, too disgusting for the prince. He couldn’t give them children, and couldn’t help Lucis by proving how beneficial it would be to trade for Empties. He failed. 

____

He was a failure. 

____

A failed experiment. 

____

He’d never been built to succeed, he was a test. This hasn’t been what he was made for, but he’d failed anyway. 

____

He slid off the mattress and stepped into his pants again. His fingers were numb, but pulling the ties through the slit and tying the bow was a motion he could do in his sleep now. Once the pants were secured around his waist, he moved back to the red cushion and knelt in place. 

____

As he waited, he ran through every Lucian phrase he knew. There wasn’t much point to it, he’d be going back to Niflheim soon. Back to the facility, to wait for a new assignment. But it gave his mind something to do, as the minutes ticked on. 

____

The princess returned, quietly closing the door behind her. “Anoctinum.” 

____

“ _Yes, your highness_?” He returned politely. 

____

She sighed and sat down in her usual chair, pressing her hand to her cheek. “Noctis will not be returning tonight.” 

____

“ _It’s okay_ ,” he repeated. “ _I understand._ ”

____

She looked at him. “No, Anoctinum. You don’t.” She gave a heavy sigh and lowered her hand. “This will seem like a strange request, but it’s important. Will you please remove your clothes?” 

____

He swallowed anxiously. “ _Your highness_?” He asked, his voice cracking with nervousness. 

____

“Nothing is going to happen. I just need to look at you. I won’t even touch you, I promise.” 

____

Why would she even want to? He was disgusting to them both. Taking a deep breath, he murmured “ _yes, your highness,_ ” and rose to his feet. Undoing the bow, he led the fabric slide to the floor. This was normal, he’d done it earlier. No big deal. Lifting off his robe was more nerve-wracking, and his hands shook as he did it. It was The Ceremony, he was wearing nothing underneath. He was naked, except for the white bonnet on his head, covering his hair and ears, and the ring around his dick. 

____

She made a curious noise, rising to her feet. She inspected the ring for a moment, then pursed her lips. “This is Tennebrae craftwork.” 

____

Hadn’t she known? He swallowed awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the patch of carpet between their feet. “ _Lord Ravus..._ ”

____

She made a disbelieving noise, and slowly walked around him, eyes sliding over his bare skin. She sighed in relief, almost, as she came around to his side. “You can dress again.” 

____

He did, quickly, sighing in relief. He pulled on the clothes quickly, hurrying to fasten the ties around his waist. He waited, for more instructions, to be excused, anything. 

____

Her voice was gentle. “And your bonnet now, Anoctinum.” 

____

He flinched. Why did that feel so much more invasive than removing his clothes? He hadn’t had his hair exposed outside a temple for anyone but Aunt Aranea since the First Ceremony. Carefully, he slid his fingers underneath the white cotton and pushed it back, until it was loose enough he could take it off properly. He could feel the hair bending strangely in the air, pulling at his scalp in a strange way. 

____

“That’s new,” the princess said, her voice very carefully gentle. She touched her own ear, to indicate what she meant. “It looks sore. It’s not infected?” 

____

“ _No, your highness_ ,” he murmured. He searched for the right words. “ _I clean it_.” He could hear his heart hammering in his ears, and he didn’t know why. Would she be angry he was pierced? Were Handmaids supposed to be clear of these sort of imperfections in in Lucis? He didn’t know how Aunt Aranea would react if it was removed. Maybe she’d put something right in his brain. “ _May I_...” He struggled. He didn’t know the word. He grit his teeth against the pain as he mumbled “keep it?” in Niflmal. Pain tore through his head, but he breathed through it. 

____

“‘ _Keep_ ’,” she told him, her voice gentle. “Yes, Anoctinum. You can do as you like with your body.” She went to the bed and gently folded back the sheets. “Will you spend the night with me tonight? I thought it might be nice to share your company.” 

____

He nodded, his shoulders easing a little. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to face Aunt Aranea’s wrath until the morning. “ _Yes, your highness._ ”

____


	17. Chapter Fourteen

In a vague way, he remembered Prince Noctis slipping into the bed on the other side of the princess in the middle of the night, muttering weak curses at her before settling down to sleep. 

Which explained why he woke up to the prince spooned up behind him, arms fastened tightly around his torso, and one leg thrown over his. There was definitely morning wood pressed against his butt. Even 90% asleep, he couldn’t ignore that fact. 

Now, he didn’t like to assume, but he was _pretty_ sure a penis was not one of Princess Lunafreya’s features. That was enough to bring him clawing out of his sleepy haze. 

He became aware of a voice speaking somewhere above him, and when he managed to crack one eye open, he saw Ignis standing over the bed. “ _Highness_ ,” he was saying, a word Prompto would probably remember how to say on his death bed after a lifetime away from Lucis. 

There was an unhappy grumble in his ear, one far too deep to be her highness. This was a baritone. Deep and gruff in sleep, even more so than normal. That was the voice of the prince. 

Then Ignis said: “ _it’s time to_ something something _now_.” Which, from context Prompto assumed was either wake up or get up. 

Prince Noctis reacted by grabbing the comforter with one hand and yanking it up over both of their heads. 

Prompto didn’t move. He couldn’t move, for shock. 

He’d fallen asleep with the Princess, the two of them on opposite sides of the bed. Prompto one good push from falling off, he was so anxious about taking up too much room in a place he wasn’t allowed. He hadn’t shifted overnight, one of his hands was still dangling over the edge of the mattress. Which meant that the prince was the one who had spooned up to him somewhere during the night. 

Oh, breath of Shiva. He needed to get up before the prince was actually aware of what was going on. He tugged at the blanket to free his face and fixed Ignis with a panicked look. He tried to wriggle out of the prince’s hands, but instead of letting him loose, they only clung tighter. 

He tried to ask Ignis for help. 

At the word he said, Ignis’s lip curled up in slight amusement. “You mean ‘ _help_ ’. You said ‘ _assist_ ’, as if you would say ‘may I assist you?’.” Which is the only way Prompto had learned the concept of helping in Lucian so far. 

“ _Help me, please?_ ” He tried instead. 

The chancellor just smirked, a sort of wickedness in his eyes. “Tickle the base of his ribs. He’ll let you go after that.” 

Oh, and the prince did. But the ‘letting go’ seemed to be an extra consequence of his highness launching himself backwards far enough to tip off the other side of the bed. 

Prompto gave Ignis a betrayed look, and hid himself back under the comforter. Thankfully the prince was either tired enough or distracted enough by his anger that he didn’t notice Prompto hiding in a lump in his marriage bed. He headed out, hurried along by Ignis, and Prompto didn’t emerge until the door was closed and their footsteps had faded out. 

He should get up, go back to his room. Would his absence all night be enough to convince Aunt Aranea that he’d been taken? Shiva, she’d probably want to check. Examine him or… something equally as invasive. He shuddered. 

Maybe if he stayed here long enough, she’d magically disappear. 

The door opened, and he turned his head to look at the princess entering the room. She was dressed for the day, in an elegant white business suit with a dark purple shirt folded over the collar. She smiled fondly at him, “good morning, Anoctinum.” 

“ _Morning_ ,” he mumbled, feeling ashamed to be lingering in the bed. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. “With fasting yesterday. I’ve a brunch for us to share. Would you like that?” 

He was. His hunger felt like an ache of emptiness, a pit, a gaping void ready to consume everything in its path. But he was almost going to refuse – Aunt Aranea was very strict about his diet – until his stomach gave a loud, insistent growl. 

Feeling blood in his cheeks, he nodded and bowed his head. “ _Yes, your highness_.” There was no way he could deny it now. And, hey, this might be his last opportunity to have actual food for a while. 

She smiled and brought over a pile of folded red material. “I’ll get you bathe and change. The bathroom is through there.” 

He took the hint. Holding the bundle close to his chest, padding bare-foot to the door she’d indicated. 

The bathroom inside was luxurious, even compared to the ones he saw in the Flauret’s Altissian townhouse. The bathtub was full of steaming water, but he opted for a shower instead. He was hungry, and the sooner he was clean and dressed, the sooner he was allowed to eat. 

There was a little wooden box with the name ‘Anoctinum’ on it, filled with some high-grade bacterial soap – ‘for the use of sex aids only. NOT FOR INTERNAL USE’. It was written three times, once in Lucian, once in a language he assumed was Tennebraen, or Accordian, and lastly in Niflmal. At least he knew what it said. 

He removed the plug and the ring, carefully washing them with the provided soap before drying them with a towel and placing them in the box. Then he grabbed the other items, an intricately shaped bar of soap and two bottles of shampoo and conditioner. 

He lingered in the shower as long as he dared. The shower head was wide, and the water pressure was amazing. He thought before long, the princess would be knocking on the door, but it never happened. 

He climbed out when the pads of his fingers and toes were wrinkled, and carefully dried himself. Then he unfolded the clothes. 

He _expected_ it to be his usual Empty robes. Instead it was a pair of dark red jeans, and a long-sleeved button-up shirt with a stiff collar. He buttoned it all the way up and left it untucked, hanging over the waistband of the jeans. There was no bonnet, and he realised his own was probably sitting on the bedside table where he’d dropped it last night. There was, however, a square of black-and-red tartan fabric – he folded it into a triangle and then secured it over his head, so it covered most of his hair. It would have to do. He didn’t want to walk out there with bare hair again. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the box filled with his items held carefully in his hands, the smell of cooked food wafted towards him. He walked towards it before even thinking about looking around the room. He was halfway there before it sunk in. 

Ignis was the one laying out large plates of food, buffet-style, while the prince and princess sat at a table laid for three, chatting. 

He froze, feeling like he needed to backtrack and close himself back in the bathroom again. Princess Lunafreya hadn’t mentioned her husband would be there too. He swallowed nervously and stepped back, but the floorboard underneath his bare heel creaked. _Traitor_! 

Ignis looked up and smiled. “Anoctinum, come sit. I was just about to serve.” 

A quick dart of his eyes in the prince’s direction showed the tension clenching the muscles of his shoulders. He bowed his head, ashamed. “ _I should_ …” He tumbled, trying to pick the right word. Anxious, he rubbed his finger over the letters of his name. “ _My room_?” 

The prince sighed in frustration and gestured. He spoke, and Luna translated: “just sit, Anoctinum. The food’s already here.” 

He swallowed and crossed to the chair between the prince and princess. He tucked the box under his chair, trying not to think too hard about what was inside of it. He removed the white cloth napkin from the plate in front of him and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. 

Yeah, he knew it was supposed to be draped across his lap. Aunt Aranea wouldn’t let him eat until he’d used the right table manners. But she wasn’t here, and he was going to milk this little freedom as much as he could. It wasn’t like he still needed to impress the couple any more, he’d already decided he was going to free them as soon as he figured out how to do that. 

Ignis brought over three plates, perfectly balanced on one arm, and placed them down. Princess Lunafreya first, then him, and then Prince Noctis. Head bowed, he carefully watched their hands, and only picked up his cutlery when they both had started eating. 

He was controlled, at first, as he cut a small triangle out of some sort of flat, spongy cake. And then the next time he could properly think, his plate was empty and the prince was staring at him with his mouth gaping open. 

He swallowed the mouthful of food, suddenly angry at himself. His first actual good meal since Altissia, and he had shovelled it into his mouth so fast he couldn’t remember what it tasted like. His lips were sticky, and his belly felt tight, sore and rounded. 

He sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his over-full stomach. To his left, there was a sharp intake of breath. He darted a glance up and saw the prince pointedly looking away, focusing on his food. 

“Are you still hungry?” The princess asked kindly. 

He shook his head. “ _No, your highness_ ,” he said quietly. “ _I’m_ …” he struggled a moment. And then he said a word he thought meant ‘full’. 

The prince choked on a mouthful of food, and coughed to clear his throat. She, meanwhile, hid a smile behind her teacup. “Well. Not quite yet,” she said, sharing some sort of private joke. 

He made a confused noise, and Ignis explained, as he poured the prince a glass of juice. “You used a word that is typically reserved to describe pregnant women,” he explained. “You mean ‘ _full_ ’, which usually means filled up, or satiated.” 

“Heh,” he said awkwardly, embarrassed, and looked down at the bulge in his shirt. “ _Food baby_.” 

The prince swallowed his entire glass of juice and focused entirely on clearing his plate. Of everything except that vegetables. 

Luna set down her cup. “I thought we might walk together in the gardens today, Anoctinum. Would you like that?” 


	18. Chapter Fifteen

_Things shifted, after their first meal together. Aunt Aranea seemed, if not pleased that he was pregnant, satisfied that he’d stayed the night with the royals. It didn’t seem, at first, like she intended to let up on his strict routine, or the confinement to his room. But the choice was taken out of her hands._

__

The very same afternoon, while Aunt Aranea was packing up his new clothes, “for a suitable occasion” (probably never), the princess’s lady-in-waiting arrived. Iris, Gladiolus’s younger sister, bowed to him with a shy smile and requested he join the princess for a walk tomorrow morning. In front of the lady, Aunt Aranea hadn’t been able to make her excuses. 

__

After that, each day he was let out of his room in the morning for a walk. Either with Lady Lunafreya, and her bubbly lady-in-waiting often in tow; or by Anyvna. The Handmaid was round with the baby now, and Prompto took every opportunity he was given to talk to the round belly, and feel for kicks against his hands. 

__

(He ached with jealousy, sometimes – a hollow feeling behind his bladder, where he wasn’t ‘full’. He wanted a baby too, wanted to feel the life growing inside him.) 

__

And Ignis kept showing up at different times in the afternoon. Always with a new book, or a language journal, he “thought may be beneficial to Anoctinum’s studies.” After the first day, when he’d remarked very casually, that the closed shutters caused bad light for reading – and Aunt Aranea had told him that Prompto had a headache – she’d been forced to open them after lunch, just in case the prince’s advisor showed up again. 

__

And then one day, about two weeks after the failed Ceremony, Ignis showed up before lunch. 

__

At that point, Prompto was half-dangled off the bed, trying to find a new interesting way to twist the patterns of the embroidery on the comforter to make a new shape to explore. The knock on the door had startled him, luckily not enough to make him tip off the bed. He sat up, confused. “ _Hello?_ ”

__

Ignis’s voice filtered easily through the wood. “Anoctinum, it is Ignis. I’ve brought some books for your studies.” 

__

He went to the door and, knowing it wouldn’t work anyway, tried the handle. “Oh. I’ve misplaced the key. I think Aunt Aranea has the other copy, you’ll have to stop by after lunch...” Every word was pure agony, and he shook violently with the effort not to clutch his head in pain and scream. 

__

“No matter.” Prompto expected Ignis to excuse himself, but instead he heard the lock turn. The advisor stepped in, tucking a key into his pocket. He paused, forehead furrowing with concern. “Are you well, Anoctinum? You look grey.” 

__

“ _I’m fine,_ ” he replied reassuringly. He gestured at his head and made an exaggerated face of pain. 

__

“...a headache?” Ignis guessed. At his nod, he calmly provided: “Headache.” 

__

Prompto repeated the Lucian word, as he went to sit down in the cushioned red armchair that was the only place in the room he was allowed to actually sit. 

__

Ignis sat across from him, on the loveseat Aunt Aranea usually took. “The books,” he said, and placed them down on the table. 

__

“ _Thank you,_ ” Prompto said, picking one up. He made a quiet noise of surprise. “Niflmal...” 

__

Ignis’s eyebrows twitched upwards. But, whatever it was, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he asked: “should I call the doctor? For your headache.” 

__

Prompto shook his head. “ _No, thank you, sir. I’m fine_.”

__

Ignis nodded in response, and would have continued, but the Aunt entered then, carrying a tray of food. Lunch time – a small bowl of broth, toast, and a cup of juice. “Is your stomach still delicate, as well as the headache?” He asked – concerned, but not suspicious. 

__

Prompto just nodded, and let Aunt Aranea lie for him: “he often has stomach complaints, when the headaches come.” 

__

“Have you sought a diagnosis from the doctor?” Ignis asked, pleasantly, “it’s most unusual for someone to have headaches with such frequency.” 

__

She gave the advisor a calm, polite smile. “A common occurrence in Empties. Nothing harmful to their fertility, of course. Just inconvenient.” 

__

Ignis just smiled and nodded, but Prompto wanted to scream. Why didn’t he question it? Why couldn’t he see through Aunt Aranea’s bullshit? Why couldn’t any of them see? 

__

The next morning, Ignis came by even earlier – almost as soon as Aunt Aranea had left after he’d returned from his morning walk with Princess Lunafreya. He let himself in with the key, and Prompto looked up from the bed. “ _Sir?_ ”

__

“Anoctinum,” he greeted. “A headache again?” He gestured to the closed shutters. 

__

Prompto just slid his bare feet down onto the rug beside the bed. “ _May I assist you_?”

__

“I’ve simply brought more books for your lessons,” Ignis replied, very calmly. As he placed them on the coffee table between the two chairs, he gave Prompto a look. A look as if something very important was happening. “Just an official pamphlet on the rights of Handmaids in Lucis. Oh, and I found a comprehensive Niflmal-to-Lucian dictionary. I thought it might be beneficial to your studies.” 

__

Prompto felt a spark of excitement he fought to keep off his face. “ _Thank you, sir,_ ” he said, “ _I will..._ ” He made a gesture, of handing over, “ _to Aunt Aranea._ ”

__

Ignis smiled, something secretive in his look, and nodded. “As you will, Anoctinum. I shan’t impose, we wouldn’t want to agitate your headache, hm?” 

__

Prompto smiled, thanked him, and said his goodbyes. Once the lock clicked after the advisor, and he couldn’t hear his footsteps any more, Prompto rushed towards the books. He couldn’t let Aunt Aranea get her hands on these. He wasn’t sure why... Some of the books Ignis had brought she’d clucked her tongue over and never brought back. These ones... he needed to keep these. 

__

A pamphlet, that might tell him how he was supposed to end the relationship with the prince and princess – and a dictionary, so he could translate the things that didn’t make sense and know it wasn’t Aunt Aranea putting her own spin on things. These. These were important. 

__

He hurried into the closet, and shifted the shoe rack aside so he could lift up the floorboards. He wrapped the items carefully in one of his summer robes – it was too cold now, for them – and hid them next to the tin of photographs. 

__

For the next few weeks, he struggled through to translate the pamphlet. It was tough work. He’d tried to remember the sentences, but he kept losing his grip on the words at the beginning of the sentence by the time he’d gotten to the middle. On the trip back from the gardens, after a walk with Anyvna, he smuggled some paper and a pencil from a study he passed. Hopefully nobody would notice them missing. 

__

It was hard work, flipping back and forth through the dictionary for every single word. And by the time he’d translated each word in a sentence, it was still difficult to understand, because Lucians ordered the words in their sentences differently than in Niflmal. But as he toiled, night by night, under the light of the broken shutter in the bathroom, it became easier. He began to recognise words when he saw them on the page, especially ones that were common. The flow of the sentences began to feel natural, rather than uselessly confusing. 

__

When he was about halfway through, there was another Ceremony. The Prince didn’t attempt to even undress him, let alone any further, but the three of them listened to a Tennebraen opera together before all sleeping together in the bed. It wasn’t doing his duty, and he felt sad that another month had gone past without becoming pregnant, but it was better than the prince not showing up at all. He woke up tangled in his limbs again, and they had another breakfast. 

__

Eventually, as the icy chill of Shiva’s breath was beginning to cut through the Fall air, he understood what the pamphlet said. 

__

Becoming a Handmaid, in Lucis, was a sacred duty. One completely optional to fertile women. They had a different place in the home, than their imperial counterparts – they belonged to the family, rather than being an outsider whose only purpose was to bear the couple young. The Handmaids, when they swore their oaths, were petitioned by couples who wished to use their services, and _they chose_ which of the homes they would go to. 

__

Leaving the home, even after the birth of a child, was rare. Handmaids might agree, with the consent of the couple, to assist other couples, but they remained part of the family they had selected. Not that they couldn’t leave! After five ceremonies, if there was no child, the Handmaid could choose to end the agreement – and they would either return to their own parents, or go to a new family, or even live on their own, if they wanted. 

__

Prompto wandered through the days following his discovery in a sort of daze. Princess Lunafreya and Iris kept giving him strange looks – but Anyvna was too distracted by her pregnancy to really notice. 

__

Five Ceremonies. If they counted the two that Noctis didn’t show up at all, and the last where there wasn’t any move to couple at all, then technically, Prompto had been through _five Ceremonies_ with the prince and princess. 

__

Had they only ever been waiting for this? He didn’t want to bring it up with Princess Lunafreya. Not until he had some answers. Answers she couldn’t give. 

__

Resolved, Prompto carefully penned a letter – in Niflmal, he wasn’t brave enough to try and write one in Lucian yet and still get his point across. He pressed it secretly into Iris’s hand as they finished their walk and asked her to pass it onto Ignis. “ _Quietly_.” He’d learnt that word from the dictionary. 

__

Then, he waited. Over the Feast Day’s service, the advisor met his eyes and gave him a discrete nod. He would arrange it.

__


	19. Chapter Sixteen

Deep in the middle of the night, long after the castle was asleep – other than the guards on night watch – there was a quiet knock on Prompto’s door. Dressed in the thick, winter cloak, he crept to the door. “ _Aunt Aranea_?” He asked, face pressed to the crack in the door on the edge with the hinges. 

“It’s Ignis,” a familiar voice replied. “I’ve brought the tool you requested.” 

“ _Okay. Come in._ ” He stepped away from the door, went to sit down on the red armchair. Shivering in the night air, he adjusted the cloak around him so none of the edges were gaping open. He adjusted the hood, made sure it was pulled down enough, but kept his eyes unhidden. 

His cheeks were numb from the cold air, but he kept still as the door unlocked and opened. Ignis slipped in, followed by a figure in a black hooded cloak. They both held lanterns, that lit up the room. 

“Your tool,” Ignis said, gesturing. His lips were curled up slightly in amusement. 

A vaguely familiar voice grumbled in answer, and the black hood was pushed back. Ignis must’ve dragged the prince out of bed. The collar of his pyjamas was rumpled, and his hair was a mess. He froze when he saw Prompto, darting his gaze back at Ignis and demanding... something. Probably an explanation of what was going on.” 

Prompto shifted. He wrote down on a piece of paper, and slid it across to Ignis. 

The advisor looked it over before reading aloud: “It’ll be easier on everyone if you translate everything for both of us.” He gave the advisor an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. This is probably a conversation we should have in private. But I don’t know Lucian well enough yet.” 

Prompto nodded. The advisor smiled. “You needn’t feel guilty, Anoctinum. I’m happy to provide my assistance. The difficulties between you two are a matter of concern to many of us.” 

The prince complained, and Ignis told Prompto: “He asks what we’re talking about.” Then he answered the prince’s question. 

The prince sighed and muttered, to which Ignis translated exactly, even mimicking the sullen tone. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” 

Prompto sighed and slid a folded piece of paper towards Ignis. A letter, he’d carefully written whenever he was sure Aunt Aranea wouldn’t be around for a significant amount of time. Huddled in the bathroom so she wouldn’t just walk in on him writing. 

Ignis carefully took it, and avoided both of their eyes as he read. Hopefully, exactly what it said, translated into Lucian. Prompto knew what it said. He’d agonized over trying to pick the right words to convey what he meant to say. 

_Prince Noctis, and probably Ignis who is reading this. Unless it’s Princess Lunafreya? Okay, I’m already messing this up right from the beginning. Deep breath, let’s do this._

_I’ve read about the Lucian Handmaids. The five-Ceremony wait. It’s been five ceremonies. I mean, I think so? Unless the times you just didn’t show up don’t count. I don’t know. But I’d guess so._

_Which means it’s time. Time to make a decision. It’s been months, and you’ve never shown any interest in me. I won’t pretend I’m not hurt. But I get it, I really do. You don’t want anyone to accuse you of being a gender-traitor—_

Prince Noctis made a noise of quiet offence, cutting Ignis off mid-sentence. 

“ _What_?” Prompto asked, looking between them. 

Ignis swallowed. “I just reached the part about...’ gender-trator’.” His face wrinkled up as he said the phrase. “We don’t... that’s an offensive term here, Anoctinum. It’s not like the empire. We don’t look down on people for being same-sex attracted.” 

Prompto twitched with surprised. They... don’t? “ _I don’t know..._ ” He gestured, as if to encompass the whole situation, “ _words_.”

“Gay,” Ignis explained. It was a weird terms, kind of old-fashioned. It meant... happy, he thought. Then Ignis repeated the word, in Lucian. Well, he guessed. 

“ _Gay_ ,” Prompto repeated, trying the words out. 

Prince Noctis looked between them suspiciously, and Ignis quietly recapped what he’d said... before turning back to the letter. 

_I can see why you might be ashamed if people thought that of you. In Niflheim, they recognise that Empties aren’t really people._

“ _Stop it_!” Noctis interrupted harshly. “ _Stop it right now_!” Prompto had been taught those phrases. “Noct,” Ignis interrupted, and scolded him. The Prince pursed his lips angrily and looked away. To Prompto, he explained: “I’ve just read—” he repeated the sentence, “I’ve bade him wait for his turn to speak. He can once you’ve finished your piece.” 

Prompto nodded, and gestured for him to continue. 

_Empties aren’t really people. At least not the kind you’re attracted to, or desire. They called them Empties, because they were just a purposeless body. A womb waiting to be filled so they can fulfil their purpose._

_I don’t know if I ever really believed that. But... I don’t know, man. Sometimes I feel really empty. Because I’m not pregnant. Not doing what I decided to do, when I found out I was one of them. Helping to make life seemed better than being an Aunt, anyway._

_It’s more than that, though. It’s... hard to explain._

_Okay, it’s been two whole days since I last wrote. I’ve been trying to figure out how to put this._

_I want a baby. I get so jealous of Anyvna because she’s having one and I don’t. Not because I can’t, but because **you** won’t._

“ _Won’t!_ ” the Prince repeated, sounding furious. “ _That’s not—_ ”

“Noct!” Ignis warned angrily. 

The prince sighed angrily and settled back into his seat, folding his arms sullenly. He nodded at Ignis to continue. 

_I said before – did I say before? I don’t blame you. You and the Princess are disgusted by me, that’s fine. That can’t be helped._

Another angry noise, but the prince didn’t try to interrupt this time. 

_I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. But I wanted to do this for you and the princess. Wanted to have your children, for her. She’s never been anything but kind – to me, and to anyone I’ve ever seen her talk to. She deserves to be a mother, and I hope she gets to be. Even if I’m not the one letting that happen._

_I’d never been with a man before. Not before you. I had a kinda girlfriend before, in the village I was raised in. We enjoyed sex together. I didn’t think I’d get to enjoy it again. They tell us, in the Facility, that we’re designed not be hurt from... performing our duties. I thought, on the first night we had together, I’d have to lie back and think of Lucis. Is that a saying for you guys? Ignis, if there’s a saying like that in Lucian, can you tell him that?_

_I didn’t know it could be enjoyable, they didn’t tell us that. Why would they, they didn’t want to encourage us to be gender-traitors, even if we were made to be laid by men. But you made it good for me. I was nervous, that it would hurt, that you would be unkind. But you made it good for me, you checked with me to make sure I was okay with what was happening. I don’t really know how to say how much that meant to me. I had hope, that being both of your Empty would be enjoyable, as well as fulfilling. To me, it was probably the only time I’d get to have a really, actually good placement._

_In the empire, we get passed from one couple to another, never more than a year. We have maybe fifteen years of good fertility, before the rates drop? Then we’re decommissioned, and sent to a place called Helheim, a refuge in the north of Niflheim, where we live out the rest of our days in retirement._

_So it turns out, in Lucis, Handmaids don’t really get sent away? The pamphlet Ignis smuggled me – Thanks Ignis!, by way – said that when they’re sworn in, they become part of the family. That’s such a weird concept to me. Like... I could spend the rest of my life with you and Luna? But I could also help other couples have children? That’s wild, dude. Uh. Not Dude. Ignis, don’t say dude. I’m pretty sure I can’t call the prince ‘dude’._

The prince snorted a laugh and Ignis gave Prompto a slight smile. “Apologies, I accidentally read the ‘dude’ part aloud.” 

Prompto groaned and hid his head in his hands, listening to the smooth, flowing words of Ignis’s Lucian, as he finished the rest of the letter. 

_That’s wild. Like, a dream really. Back when I thought I could have my own life, a home and – maybe even a family, if I could afford to house an Empty. For the first time since I was sixteen years old, that’s something I might actually be able to have._

_So... here comes the hard part. I don’t wanna stay here if I can’t. If I get the opportunity dangled in front of me, but am stuck in a life where it’s beyond my reach. So we have a choice. Well, I say we. It’s really only you – because you’re the one who’s had the issue before this. I’m committed, and the Princess seems to be. But you couldn’t show more obviously that you don’t want me, or what I can do for you._

_(Ignis don’t talk just yet, tell me when you get to this point, okay? I’m gonna do something really dramatic and probably stupid. Just... don’t look up, keep your eyes on the page. When I say “this is me”, you can keep going with the letter, alright?)_

The advisor stopped, giving a confused look. “You asked me to pause?” Prompto pointed to the letter, and he obediently focused his eyes on the paper. 

Taking a deep breath, Prompto rose to his feet. He untied the catch of the cloak and let it fall down onto the armchair behind him. Dramatic indeed. He was completely and utterly naked underneath – hair exposed, dick free of the ring for the first time the prince had ever seen him. And he was freezing cold, his skin all goosebumped, nipples peaking in the icy air. 

He looked the stunned prince dead in the eyes. “ _This is me,_ ” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. 

Iggy took up his translating again, eyes very pointedly not leaving the page. 

_This is me, Prince Noctis. An Empty, made under the star of Shiva, raised as an orphan in Niflheim, taken to be given a duty at sixteen. I can’t offer you anything else. If you can’t give me what I want, if you can’t make this my home where I’m wanted and useful, then end it. Send me back to Niflheim with nothing but the clothes on my back, so I can do what I was made to do. Make me Anoctinum - **really** Anoctinum, not just in name – or send me back to be number 1387. I can’t live this way any more._

Ignis, whose voice was strangely tight with a restrained emotion, folded the letter. “ _There is no more_ ,” he told Noctis, in Lucian. 

Noctis, who had been looking at Prompto since the cloak had fallen, in a variety of different facial expressions. He said something to Ignis, who very politely covered the lenses of his glasses with a hand. 

Carefully, very slowly as if not to startle Prompto, he stood and picked up the cloak. He very carefully tucked the fabric around his body, looking Prompto in the eyes. There was an expression in his face, something torn and agitated, but not angry. Not a total shut-down, right away. 

Watching Prompto unwaveringly, he said something. Something that used the word ‘Niflheim’ twice. Prompto kept the eye contact, even as he whispered a confused. “ _Ignis? Help_?”

“He says... He said: ‘You’re not going back to Niflheim. Even if...’ and he didn’t finish that thought. He just said again, ‘You’re not going back to Niflheim’.”


	20. Chapter Sixteen-and-a-Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna? Luna.

Lunafreya was sat up in bed, a thick dressing robe over her shoulders and arms as she picked from a breakfast tray and flipped through the morning reports. She glanced as the door opened and, seeing her husband come in, returned her attention to the agricultural projections. “Iris?” She asked softly. 

Her almost frighteningly efficient Lady-in-Waiting swept in and lifted the breakfast tray off the bed moments before Noctis crashed into the space on the mattress where it had been. 

She’d been worried, at first, about the choice in her Lady. Lady Iris Amicitia was young, barely fifteen years old. _Too young_ , she thought, a part of her aching for a stolen childhood. How could one teenage girl handle being the personal assistant/dresser/ make-up artist/personal shopper/political advisor/confidante/proof-reader/personal accountant/therapist/private messenger/courier/housekeeper/spy/poison tester/waitress/entertainer/hostess that a future queen required? Let alone the secret bodyguard that her position demanded. But Iris Amicitia had stepped into the role as if she’d been born into it. Technically, she had. Lunafreya had talked about, in the beginning, bringing in another lady to wait on her. Noctis, after all, had Lord Scientia for most of those tasks, and Sir Amicitia for the rest. She hadn’t mentioned it in a while, and Iris hadn’t even hinted about needing someone to share the load. 

“Coffee, Noct?” Iris asked. 

He made a vaguely no-sounding grumble. 

“Alright. Lunafreya, is there anything else?” 

With a sigh, the princess held up some forms that she’d signed. “See these get handed over to the right people? I’ll dress myself today.” 

“Yes, your highness. I’ve laid out the navy Westwood for your speech with the diplomats today,” Iris explained. 

“Perfect. Thank you, Iris.” 

Her lady left the room, shifting through the documents to check their recipients as she went. Lunafreya had not a single doubt that they would get to the appropriate places before business had even begun for the day. 

Now alone, Noct buried his head in the blankets above her knee. “Luna,” he whined. 

She fought hard not to sigh. She had so much to deal with on a daily basis, the additional stress of managing her husband’s feelings was an unwanted additional burden. 

Noctis may be the crown prince, but nobody in court expected him to actually rule. No matter how much education or Lord Scientia’s needling Noctis had undergone, he remained the sullen, disinterested, unmotivated boy he’d been. She’d been hand-picked, from a young age, to act as his future queen-regent. The invasion of Tennebrae had derailed those plans, but the proposed treaty had brought them back into order. Yet she had to prove, long before his ascension, that she was more than capable of handling the position. She had to make every person in Lucis believe that she was a _natural_. 

But she loved Noctis, had for many years. So she put aside her feelings, and the binder of reports, to run her fingers through his untamed hair. “Good morning, my love.” 

“Is it morning already?” He grumbled. “I hate winter.” 

She hummed in acknowledgement. Not obvious about her disagreement. She was born under Shiva’s star, she loved the quiet slumber of nature more than any other season. “You haven’t slept yet?” 

“No,” he complained. “Ignis dragged me out of bed at two in the morning.” 

She raised her eyebrows at that. “An emergency?” She hadn’t been notified. 

“No… just subterfuge.” He sighed again. “He and our Scarlet organised some secret meeting for us to… talk about things. I’m not… I’m not really mad. There was,” he paused, “a _lot_.” 

A secret meeting with Anoctinum. “A lot?” She echoed, lightly probing for more information. 

He dug around in his pocket and fished out a carefully folded piece of paper. “He wrote me a letter. And I had to sit while Iggy read it out loud.” 

“May I…?” She asked, taking the letter from his fingers. 

“Yeah. Go ahead. It’s important to you too.” 

She covered her lips as she read, her ride of emotions too much for this early in the morning, with such a busy day ahead. Poor Anoctinum. She had tried to get Noctis to see, many times, that what he was doing would make their Empty feel. He hadn’t listened, and now it had come to this. 

She folded the letter up, and pressed it back into her husband’s hands. “What did you say?” 

“What was I _supposed_ to say?” He asked, distressed. “He was standing there, naked, begging me to understand him!” 

“Why was he naked…?” She cut herself off and shook her head. “We’ll come back to that. What did you _say_ to him, Noctis?” 

He sighed and buried his face in her blankets for a moment. Then he groaned and rolled over, so he could look up at her. “I promised he wasn’t leaving Lucis,” he said carefully. “I’m not… even if I can’t do this, and he doesn’t want to stay with us, I’m not letting him go back to the empire. We just have to wait a little longer – six months, and he’ll officially be a Lucian citizen, with all of our rights.” 

She smiled, lightly scratching her nails against his scalp to soothe him. “That was a smart decision. Was that all you said, Noctis?” 

He nodded, looking away. “I… I said I needed more time. To think about everything he’s said.” 

She sighed, but nodded. Noctis never could confront these things straight away, he needed to brood over them for a while. It had been months before Noctis could even mention the betrothal, even though they’d both seen it coming. Hopefully it wouldn’t take as long this time. 

She removed her hand from his hair and adjusted the sheets. “What does he mean by this part – that he wants you to really make him Anoctinum?” 

“I, uh…” He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I don’t… really know,” he admitted. “Is it a sex thing?” 

She pulled a face at the instinctive rise of aversion to the words. She didn’t want to know about any of that. “With the surrounding context, I suspect it would be more than that,” she said carefully. 

“Like what?” He asked, giving her a confused look. 

“That’s probably a discussion you ought to have with him, Noctis,” she said gently. She sighed and rubbed her eyebrow. “He says I’m disgusted by him too.” 

“Why would he think we find him disgusting?” Noctis asked. 

Lunafreya gave her husband a very patient look. One he didn’t deserve whatsoever. “I would think his reasoning behind that is obvious,” she answered. “Especially considering you have never thought it necessary to explain to him why you wouldn’t and then… _couldn’t_ couple with him.” 

Noctis cringed, embarrassed. “Oh.” He shifted. “I should… get Ignis to explain about that.” 

She rubbed her forehead against the headache that was forming. She’d ask Iris to bring her a potion when she came back. “You haven’t made any progress in learning Niflmal, then?” 

“Why should I?” He complained. “Anoctinum is already learning Lucian. It’d only confuse him to hear me speaking Niff.” 

She sighed. “To make him feel more welcome, my dear.” She stood, carefully tucking the warmth of the dressing robe over her body to protect from the refreshingly chilled air. “Is there anything else I can help you with? I’ve a full day of meetings to attend to.” As well as she now had to fit in some time with their Empty to ask him how he felt last night’s secret rendezvous had gone. 

Noctis rubbed his neck, in the long-since familiar gesture of embarrassment and awkwardness. “Yeah… I,” he bit his lip, “can I have Anoctinum’s company in my room tonight?” 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. In the four months since they’d been married, other than their First Ceremony, he’d never sought her permission. When they’d sworn in to their Handmaid relationship – rather, their Empty relationship – he’d agreed to only ever take his conjugal rights from Anoctinum, and only ever with her say-so. It wasn’t the normal vows, and hopefully all who were present had assumed there was an error in translation somewhere. 

In truth, it had been a modification in deference to her own asexual orientation. The usual oaths, even in the elaborate ceremonies as those, had the husband swear to not seek his conjugal rights anywhere else _other_ than their Handmaid. Anything else could be considered adultery and was a cause to sever their relationship. 

The First Ceremony had gone well. They’d both been relieved, the night of, that Noctis had found Anoctinum so pleasing. His discovery about the treatment and position of Empties in the empire had caused a moral crisis that, though she couldn’t blame him for it, had soured the fantasies of their comfortable magic to naught. 

His seeking her permission now… it meant things were changing. The dynamic of their relationship was about to shift again. And she truly, genuinely hoped, it would be for the better. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you need my permission?” She hinted. 

He blushed. “Maybe. I’m not… expecting it. But I’m not gonna say no if he wants to either? So… maybe?” 

She nodded, understanding. Noctis was like that. He wouldn’t push for anything, if he didn’t feel his partner wanted it too. “Very well.” She laid her head on his hand. “You have my permission. I think it would be best if I told him, rather than Ignis. What time will you expect him?” 

“Dinner,” he answered. “I’m having Iggy make something special.” 


	21. Chapter Seventeen

It was Anyvna’s turn for a walk, but it was Lady Iris who showed up at the door at what was probably exactly 10am. He acted like nothing was wrong as Aunt Aranea frowned at them, pulling red woollen gloves onto his hands, and covering his neck with a looped scarf. But once they were safely clear from the room, he stepped close to the lady – his head bowed so the wings covered his face and mouth – and whispered: “ _it’s Anyvna’s Day_.”

Lady Iris just gave a small, imperceptive nod. 

He tried again. “ _Her highness has many things today._ ” Ignis had said as much, last night. She was meeting with all sorts of diplomats and politicians, so he would brief her on the conversation when she had a space for him in her schedule.

“The princess said it’s such a beautiful, winter day, she couldn’t stand to stay cooped up in the Citadel in her breaks.” Lady Iris spoke in a sort of calm, easygoing voice. Too pleasant and too polite. Too well-crafted in Niflmal, she’d probably been told exactly what to say by Lunafreya. 

“ _Thank you, my lady._ ” They were quiet, until they came to the outdoor gardens. It wasn’t snowing, but Shiva’s breath ghosted across everything. The window this morning had been covered in frost when Aunt Aranea had opened the curtains after his wake-up. 

He lifted his face up, so he could feel her whispers on his cheeks. The skin tingling with the sensation. He smiled, spread his arms out to feel it. “Hello, Frostbearer,” he whispered back, “welcome home.” 

A faint giggle reached his ears, and when he turned to seek it, he saw Princess Lunafreya approaching across the stoned footpath – and following alongside her was the priestess from Altissia. 

He bowed to them both, resisting the urge to look at the priestess with all the curiosity he was feeling. “Princess. Gentiana.” 

The princess made a surprised noise, and he felt the priestess’s hands cup his cheeks and tilt his head up. “It’s a joy to see you again, Prompto,” she whispered, too low for the others to hear. She pressed a kiss to his forehead – her lips were cold as ice and he felt it soothe some part of his mind that always felt too warm. Once she stepped back, the air about them seemed to still. “I have wanted to visit for some time, but it is difficult for me to come here outside of the winter months.” 

He smiled at her, letting his eyes drift back down to their feet. “ _Welcome, honoured Gentiana. It is good to see you._ ”

The hands on his cheeks drifted back, and lightly brushed the ring through his ear. “You have had your tongue stolen,” she said, her voice laced with a deep sadness. “My poor child.” 

“Would you like to join us on our walk, Gentiana?” The princess asked, looking between them with interest. 

It was strange. She turned to look at Princess Lunafreya, and her voice sounded it different. Like it fit in the air differently. Wasn’t as clear, or precise. “No, thank you, Lunafreya,” she said, with fondness. “I must be going, but I will return soon.” 

Princess Lunafreya bowed her head to her, with a gentle smile. “I’ll look forward to it, Gentiana. Iris?” 

The lady appeared at her side. “ _Yes, princess?_ ” 

The princess said something to her lady, mentioning Gentiana’s name. The lady agreed, and escorted the priestess back into the citadel. Lunafreya threaded her arm through his and the two of them began walking along the garden path. 

“You know Gentiana?” Lunafreya asked, as they wandered into the winter garden. Deep red hellebores, so dark they were almost black, lined the pathway. 

“ _In Altissia,_ ” he explained. He crouched down to look at the flowers. Did you know hellebores are toxic? He might have asked. If you touch them for too long, you come up in blisters. I learned that the hard way. My first taste of Shiva’s cruelty. If he could. Instead, he looked up at Lunafreya with a sort of ‘isn’t this interesting’ expression. “Hellebores. _Sick_.” That was the closest he could get. 

“Usually,” she replied, with a smile. “‘ _Poisonous_ ’,” she supplied helpfully. “The Lucians cross-bred them with black pansies, until they’re not toxic any more.” 

“Oh.” They were pretty enough. But they weren’t really Shiva’s any more, were they? He stood up and put his arm back through hers. She led him further into the winter garden. 

“Noctis came to me this morning,” she said, her voice gentle. “I read your letter. I hope that’s alright.” 

He nodded with a smile. “ _Yes. It’s fine. Thank you, your majesty._ ”

She petted his arm with a fond smile. “You want to be a part of our family, Anoctinum?” She asked carefully. 

He blushed, somehow feeling embarrassed now that it was brought up. “ _Yes,_ ” he answered, barely louder than a mumble. He lifted his head enough he could peek at her beyond his wings. “ _I do._ ”

She squeezed his arm with another smile. “I’m pleased to hear it, Anoctinum,” she said gently. “But I’m afraid I don’t quite understand how you mean it. We’re both foreigners here. What sort of place do you want in our family? There’s no wrong answer.” 

_I want you to love me,_ he thought, bowing his head. _Both you and the prince. But I could never ask that, so I want to be something you treasure. Something you want to keep by your side._ Instead, he made a quiet noise of frustration. “ _I don’t_...” He grasped the air, to try and convey what he meant. “ _Words_.” 

“Have?” She asked gently. “You don’t have the words to explain what you mean?” He nodded, relieved she could at least understand what he meant. She quietly told him the word he was missing, and tucked closer into his arm. The wind gusted around them, petting their clothes and Lunafreya’s hair with affection. “You could put it in a letter, perhaps? Would that be easier for you?” 

He nodded, grateful. He lifted her head to give her a weak smile, and she leaned across to kiss his bloodless cheek. It felt warm, in a welcoming way. “ _I will. Tonight._ ”

She hummed. “Perhaps not tonight.” She glanced around them and leaned in close to tell him: “Noctis wants to see you in his room. He’s invited you to dinner.” 

Something dull thunked in his chest, and he felt blood doing its very best to rush to his cheeks. “ _Us... three?_ ” He asked carefully. 

She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “Just you.” 

“ _Alone_?” He asked, hating how his voice cracked to betray his nervousness. “ _Is that... allowed?_ ” He probably mangled the pronunciation of the word but he’d learned it from the pamphlet. 

She shifted their arms so she could squeeze his hand. “I promise you, Anoctinum. So long as you allow it, there is nothing he would ask of you that isn’t permitted.” 

He nodded, and considered it for a long moment. At the _very_ least, it would mean he’d get to have a good dinner that night, instead of the _nothing_ he usually had according to Aunt Aranea’s diet plan. He glanced at the princess carefully. “ _When is dinnertime?_ ”

She gave him a beautiful smile, like sunlight on freshly fallen snow, and gave him a few more details. 

When he returned to the room, Aunt Aranea was waiting impatiently with his now-cold soup and bread. The disgusting green juice had separated into a murky pale grey-green foam and a swampy dark green-brown liquid. 

He quickly removed his wings and gloves and scarf. The room was warmer than outside, but it would’ve been nice to have a fire lit in the marble fireplace. Half the joy of winter was coming in from the cold to be nestled by the warmth of fire, like Shiva had been when she married Ifrit. But he wasn’t to waste resources like that, not as a failing Empty. 

He sat down at the table and picked up the cup of juice. She always stayed to make sure he drank the entire thing first. “Aunt Aranea?” He said quietly. 

Her lips pursed in disapproval. “Yes, Thirteen-eighty-seven?” 

“ _His highness has..._ ” He didn’t have the word. “ _Me. In his bedroom. Tonight. Six.”_

__

Her neatly styled eyebrows rose towards her hairline. “Is that so?” She asked suspiciously. 

__

He nodded. “ _Yes, Honoured Aunt. Her highness said.”_

____

She pushed one of the thick braids of her hair off her shoulder. “The whole night? Alone with the prince?” 

____

He nodded his head, lowering his eyes to the tray with the bowl of watery soup. “ _Yes, Honoured Aunt,_ ” he repeated. “ _Alone. Tonight._ ”

____

She sounded pleased, even as she plucked the glass from his hand. “Then we’ll have to begin your fasting. I’ll run your bath.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Noct voice) Gentiana's back.


	22. Chapter Eighteen

Prompto was nervous as he stood outside the tall, ornate double doors. He raised one fist and lightly tapped on the door with a single knuckle. Three quick, short taps. He was wearing the usual silk red pants, like Ceremony nights – no underwear, and the usual adornments underneath. But he was dressed in the red button up shirt instead of the usual robe, tucked into the waistband of the pants. It felt weird, and he was oddly self-conscious of the silk clinging to his crotch.

There were footsteps on the other side of the door, and the door handle turned down. The door was soundless as it swung open, revealing Ignis standing there. 

“Anoctinum,” he said fondly. “Just in time. Come in.” 

He stepped aside to let Prompto in, and the blond swept his eyes over the room. It was surprisingly modern, compared to the rest of the Citadel. All clean lines and plain surfaces, and a _huge_ screen with different glowing boxes attached. It even had its own kitchen! There was a glass-topped dining table, set up with two chairs. It was covered in covered dishes, and a delicate square vase filled with winter flowers sat in the middle, flanked by two candlesticks. 

It looked intimate. Almost...romantic. He did know that the princess wasn’t coming? 

Prompto looked about him nervously, and looked at Ignis. “He knows it’s just me right? He’s not expecting the princess?” 

Ignis laughed and nodded, before disappearing through a closed door. When he re-emerged, he was dragging the prince along. He was wearing most of a nice suit. All black with grey pinstripes. His hair had actually been combed into some semblance of order. He looked so uncomfortable. 

“Take a seat,” Ignis invited with nod towards the dining table. He hissed at the prince in fast-paced Lucian, too low and quick for Prompto to even attempt to understand. 

He moved to sit down on the side of the table closest to the door. He unfolded the napkin and tucked it over his lap. The prince thumped down in the chair across from him and mumbled an unhappy hello. 

He glanced at Ignis uncertainly. “ _Does he not want... Should I..._?” He gestured towards the door. 

“ _No_!” the prince said quickly. “ _I’m just_ —” He said something, and Prompto glanced at Ignis for help. 

“He said ‘irritated with Specs’,” Ignis explained. “That’s me. What he really means is he’s sulking because I wouldn’t let him order pizza; and eat in his pyjamas.” He pushed up the spectacles he was nicknamed after. “I assure you, he would like for you to remain here with him.” 

The prince huffed and looked between them sullenly. “ _What are you telling him_?”

Ignis didn’t answer. Instead, he passed a device to Prompto. “A little something I had a friend of mine work on. It’s still a prototype, but it should serve you for this evening.” He pushed on a button which brought the screen to life, with red text and a touch-activated keyboard. “Anything you type into it using Niflmal will be spoken aloud in Lucian – and spoken Lucian will become written Niflmal.” 

Curious, he typed ‘what’s up dog?’ and gave a delighted sort of laugh as it spoke the phrase aloud. The prince gave a quiet, amused scoff. 

Ignis rolled his eyes, and spoke in Lucian – which popped up on the screen in red text: “you two are going to get along well.” He rolled his eyes and switched back to Niflmal: “This should ensure you two are able to adequately communicate tonight, without the assistance of a translator.” 

Prompto held the device in a tight, possessive hand. He looked at Ignis gratefully. “ _Thank you, my lord_ ,” he murmured gratefully. 

Ignis bid them both goodnight, instructed Prince Noctis to put away any leftovers but please remember to leave the dishes for his return in the morning. Then he excused himself and closed the door behind them. 

“Alone at last,” the prince said, the words translated on the screen. Prompto gave him a weak smile and stood up to lift the cover of the plates to serve them both. The prince lightly batted his hands away. “I’ll serve.” He put a bit of everything on Prompto’s plate, but there was a suspicious absence of vegetables on his own. 

They didn’t talk during dinner, except for the two of them to trade compliments about the food back and forth using the device. Simple, easy. No pressure. 

And then dinner was finished. “Bathroom?” Prompto enquired awkwardly, while Noctis picked up the dishes to wash off. His highness pointed at the right door and Prompto practically fled. 

_Okay,_ he told himself sternly, as he washed his hands and any grease off his face. _You can do this. Luna gave her permission, you’re not doing anything wrong._

There was a quiet knock on the door, and the prince’s voice filtered through. He glanced down at the translator device anxiously. “You okay in there?” 

“Yes,” he typed back. “I’ll be out in a moment.” 

There was a long pause, but then footsteps retreated. Prompto gave himself another moment to pep himself up, then stepped out of the bathroom. 

The prince had changed into an old, thread-bare hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He was slumped lazily on the couch, controller in hand. “Do you like video games?” He asked. 

“I have no idea.” He took a seat on the other edge of the couch and focused his gaze on the screen. Once he sat, the prince opened the menu and turned on Niflmal subtitles, for his benefit. 

The game was cute. Kind of cartoony, about a kid with some big key thing going to visit worlds from the children’s movies Prompto had watched as a kid at the orphanage. 

They got to some underwater world, and the prince was absolutely _sucking_ at the music game he was supposed to be playing. He made a frustrated noise as the prince – once again – failed out of a song. 

He shot Prompto a sullen look and thrust the controller out at him challengingly. Prompto didn’t need a translator to know he was sneering at him to do better. 

So the Empty took the controller in his hands. He took a moment to fit his hands comfortably around the black plastic, get a feel for where the buttons were, and then press the button to begin the song again. 

He won the first time, with a perfect score. He shot the outraged prince a triumphant grin, and returned his attention to the game. Figuring out how to move was a struggle, but the prince made no move to stop him. Instead, Prompto felt a warm head settle onto his thigh. He glanced down at him quickly, face pinking a bit, before returning his attention to the screen. 

He finished all the songs, getting perfect scores in most of them, and then offered the controller back to the prince. 

“Mm. Thanks.” Then he shifted so he was sitting next to him instead, focused on the game. Tentatively, very unsure, Prompto shifted so he could lie down on the prince’s lap in return. While they watched a cutscene, the prince freed one hand from the controller and worked the fingers under the white bonnet so he could lightly stroke at the compressed hair underneath. 

Glancing around to make sure the door was secure, Prompto tugged the bonnet off and dropped it over the edge of the couch. The prince made a pleased noise, almost absently, and started smoothing down the strands into a neater order. 

This felt nice. Cozy, and intimate. The air was warm, the music of the game was gentle and soothing, the prince was solid and warm beneath him. 

...he may have drifted off. He didn’t know how long had passed when he opened his eyes, but now the character was talking to... a mouse? About somebody named...? “ _Who’s Xehanort_?” He mumbled in Lucian. 

The prince paused the game and began to laugh. Prompto turned to glare up at him. A hand stroked his hair apologetically and he spoke – Prompto dug out the translator to figure out what he’d said. “I’m sorry, but... that’s the most complicated question out of the whole game. You had to ask it.” 

He huffed, typed out a “never mind then”, and rolled over to close his eyes again. 

Laughing to himself, Noctis saved the game and shut the console down. “Come on then, Anoctinum,” he said, or so the red text reported. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow night, I’ll start you on the first game so you’re not as lost.” 

Prompto yawned and stood, obediently shuffling after the prince to the bedroom. The bed inside wasn’t as large as the one they used for The Ceremony – but it was plenty big, and made with an ornate canopy. The sheets were kicked down the end of the bed, not neatly made like Prompto would guess a prince’s should be. 

The deep baritone voice asked him something, and when he turned around to look, the prince was offering him a set of folded clothes. Right, pyjamas. He gestured to his shirt and nodded. A dark grey long-sleeved shirt was tossed in his direction, and he turned his back to pull it on. 

By the time he looked back, the prince was already tucking himself in bed. He lifted the blanket up in invitation and Prompto gave him a shy smile before slipping into the sheets next to him. They were deliciously warm, obviously heated by something, and he gave a deep, content smile before settling down to sleep. 

Before he tipped over the edge, he felt the prince spoon up behind him, one arm wrapping over his waist. “ _This was nice_ ,” he said – or Prompto was pretty sure it was something similar. 

He smiled and nodded, shifting back against him comfortable. “ _Thank you for tonight, your highness._ ”

There was a happy rumble of a hum, and the arm squeezed him gently. “ _You’re welcome_.”


	23. Chapter Eighteen-and-a-Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> A smut chapter! Consent is very enthusiastically given by both parties, but as the universe is built around dubious consent, know your own lines on how to proceed. Stay safe!

Noct was having a dream. A very nice dream. A dream he’d had a probably alarming number of times.

In this dream, he was sitting in his Scarlet’s room. And in front of him, the blond was completely naked. Shy, but filled with a determined sorta confidence. Unbearably sexy. Specs was never there in the dream. (Okay he’d been there once with his mountain of a lover but that was a whole other thing Noct did not feel like unpacking.) It was just him, and a gloriously naked Anoctinum. 

Noct knew he wasn’t sexy. He might protest against Gladio’s jabs, but he knew he had basically no muscle. He had noodle limbs, and an ugly mess of scars up his side from the childhood accident that had led to his meeting Luna. His Scarlet was _sexy_.

Not the muscled, tattooed heroic figure of Gladio. Or the svelte, masterful length of Specs. (Bodies he very much had enjoyed and admired in the past.) 

Anoctinum was thin, but not in the bony way Noct was. His arms curved with just the slightest definition of muscle, but his legs and unfairly fantastic ass were tight with muscle. A runner’s body. Noct may not have seen that naked body on display for very long, but he had subconsciously memorized it. 

How much had he jerked off to the memory in the week since it had happened? Way more often than he wanted to admit. Way more than was probably healthy for a guy no longer in the throws of puberty. And the dreams. 

In the current version of the dream, they were alone in Anoctinum’s bedroom. The Scarlet had just removed the cloak to reveal glorious naked skin, practically glowing in the firelight of the lanterns. He looked at Noct, determined – challenging. “ _This is me_.” It was him. And Noct very much liked him. 

In reality, Noct had gotten up and covered goosebumped skin with the red cloak of his titlesake. But in his dreams (and his fantasies alone with a fist around his royal sceptre), Anoctinum wasn’t cold. He was flush with arousal, and Noct didn’t get up. The blond came to _him_.

They kissed. (Noct had never gotten to kiss him, not yet. He was waiting for him to make the first move. Make all of the first moves.) The Scarlet in his lap, their lips had pressed together, and their hips had moved in an age-old rhythm. It was a dream, so there was no need for foreplay. Anoctinum was hot and slick and tight around him, body arching with every cry of pleasure as he raised and lowered himself on Noct’s dick. Noct ran his hands over sweat-slicked skin, petted through messy golden hair, gave the plump, needy shaft encouraging strokes. 

Things were getting a bit fuzzy. Something other than the dream was coming into his awareness. He almost fought it away, but the otherness was interesting enough to tug away his attention from the dream of his Scarlet. 

There was movement, and pleasure, and something warm and hard against his body. Softly gasping moans, half-stifled but unable to be completely subdued. A hand clawed into his wrist. “Nn... Noct!” 

Oh. Now he was fully awake. The threads of the dream tore, and it took a moment to orient himself in reality. 

He was in bed. His bed. And he wasn’t alone. His hips, which were chasing the rhythm of the dream-fucking, were grinding up against the very same fantastic ass he’d been dreaming of. His face was pressed into messy blond hair. His dick had slipped perfectly between the crack of Anoctinum’s cheeks, the silk damp and clinging to the curves, nudging up against something hard. Absently, he gave a thrust to try and figure out what that hardness was – and Anoctinum’s voice cracked in a moan. 

Oh. That was... the plug. The plug the Scarlet wore to keep himself open and slicked for Noct’s ease. 

It hit him suddenly. He’d been humping up to Anoctinum in his sleep. With a groan, he forced his limbs to move away – no matter how much his body and mind disagreed with the withdrawal. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was dreaming.” 

It had been a week. One week since the whole... letter thing. Every night, Noct had invited his Scarlet over for dinner and video games. They were almost finished the first game now, and Anoctinum was adorably invested in the story. And then they went to bed together and he stayed for breakfast, before heading back to his own rooms. 

He told Specs it was to ensure that the Scarlet had freedom from that bitch of an aunt, and two good full meals a day. Which was true! But his motives were more selfish than that. He liked having him around. They still struggled to communicate, but Specs’ handy little translator thing helped with that. And Square Enix had Niflmal subtitles on their games anyway. Some of what Noct was sure were attempts at jokes didn’t quite work – but he recognised the sly look from Ignis to recognise a pun when he saw that. 

They were physically comfortable with one another. If Specs wasn’t done cooking when Anoctinum arrived, the blond happily curled on Noct’s lap to watch whatever was on the screen while they waited. If they were alone, Anoctinum would remove the Handmaid bonnet and let Noct finger through the pretty blond hair that he was probably a little obsessed with. He even pressed up into the touch, when he was distracted. 

But as comfortable in each other’s space as they were, it was innocent. Or, maybe not innocent exactly. What was the word? Chaste. It was totally chaste. 

As much as Noct wanted – as much as he fantasized and dreamt and wished about his body – he refused to press. Getting to know Anoctinum, as much as two people who couldn’t really talk to each other could. He was actually surprised how well he did know the blond, and maybe words weren’t as important as everyone seemed to think they were. 

Still, that morning – or, well, probably yesterday morning at this stage – Noct had given Anoctinum The Letter. It wasn’t as long or as eloquent as the blond’s had been – or maybe that was Specs’ delivery. But it was his – and Luna had provided a translation in Niff for him to understand. 

In it, he detailed his discoveries in Altissia, the guilt and horror that had overcome him. He’d never been disgusted with _Anoctinum_ \- only the lack of choice, what looked to Noct as lack of consent. He detailed the waiting game—not the Five Ceremonies as Anoctinum had thought, but the six months. Six months for a foreigner living and ‘working’ (being a Handmaid came under the law as work even though it wasn’t a job) in Insomnia before they were granted citizenship. Once the six months was up, and Anoctinum was a citizen of their country, he would be officially protected by the Handmaid Laws. And that included the freedoms of choice that Niffs didn’t give their Scarlets. 

In the letter, after an almost waxed poetic about how much Noct _liked_ him, was also a promise. A promise that Noct would not lead him into any sexual contact. Any and all intimacy of that kind would be on Anoctinum’s terms. 

And he’d just gone and fucked that up. Great. Thanks sleeping boner. He sighed and fumbled for the translator, stuffed under the pillows. “I was dreaming,” he told it, watching the foreign red text blink to life on the screen for Anoctinum to understand. “I didn’t mean to make you.” 

The blond read the words, and then turned over to face him. There was shyness in his expression, as he looked up at Noct from under his long, pale lashes. “Were you... ‘dreaming’ of me?” He mangled the pronunciation, as he always did with new words. It was unbearably cute. 

Noct felt his cheeks blushing, and nodded. “Uh... yeah. Sorry.” 

There was a hesitance, and then the blond’s soft palm pressed against his stomach. Skin, exposed by his tee hiked up a little, tingled at the contact. “Do not be sorry.” 

Noct gasped as the hand slid lower, to the waistband of his pyjama pants. It stopped, with one pinky tucked under the fabric and torturing the sensitive skin there. 

“Yes?” That was a word Anoctinum knew well. 

Noct gasped and nodded, frantically. “Yes.” 

The blond hesitated again, then took up one of the prince’s hand. He moved it to his own ass, and Noct groaned as it was cupped against the tight muscle. “...every?” He enquired. 

Noct was pretty sure his brain exploded. He nodded, eager, desperate, and replied: “everything. Yes. Please.” 

“Everything,” the adorable testing of the new word, as the hand inched into Noct’s pants just a little more. “Yes?” 

Noct moaned and bucked his hips up. “Yes. Yes.” 

A heart-stoppingly beautiful smile crossed Anoctinum’s expression. He wriggled out of those red silky harem pants things, lay on his back and spread his legs wide. Noct couldn’t move fast enough, to kick off his pants and press between the inviting thighs. 

He tugged the plug out and shoved it somewhere in the bed, he didn’t care where. He pressed his slick-shiny head against the entrance and waited, looking at Anoctinum. 

His eyes were blue. A deep blue, almost violet. And they were _impatient_. “Yes!” he snapped – no, demanded. How could one guy be so adorable and sexy at the same time? 

Noct made sure he was lined up, and then thrust forward. The flesh yielded to him, and then gripped him like a vice to keep him inside. He had to stop, to give himself a moment. 

It had been five months since he’d had this. Five months minus a week where he hadn’t even let himself think about the blond, or how good it might feel – it did feel. _He’s perfect,_ Noct had blurted to Luna, coming down from his orgasm in their marriage bed. Before he’d known about the guilt to set in. 

A soft hand stroked down his arm, and he emerged from the daze of heat and tightness and memory. Anoctinum was giving him a patient, almost adoring smile. “Yes?” 

Noctis nodded, and slowly drew back out of the warmth, before pressing back in. He nudged against the little nub of nerves and the head of blond hair arched back, exposing the pale throat that vibrated with a cry of pleasure. 

His heart stuttered in his chest, and a wild urge came into his head. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, stopping deep inside the warm channel. 

Confusion crossed the pretty, pale face. Noct knew that look. That was the ‘you used a word I don’t understand in a sentence I mostly do’ look. “Kiss?” 

He groaned. Where was that damn translator? He bit his lip, eyes darting around for it and not finding it. “Kiss,” he repeated. And then, feeling ridiculous, he puckered his lips together and made a kissing noise with his lips. 

“Oh!” Hesitant, the blond raised himself up on his elbows. Tentative, he brought their lips together, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes,” he murmured. “Kiss.” 

The Scarlet was... shockingly good at it. Better than Noct had assumed he would be. Just the right pressure, the slightly tease of his tongue that invited Noct to press deeper. They kissed, Noct’s heart thumping wildly in his chest, for a minute he hoped might last forever. 

But then the hips underneath him bucked impatiently. Groaning, Noct took the hint. Losing himself in the heat, in the slick, tight grip of Anoctinum, he chased pleasure higher and higher. His own, but more importantly the other’s – listening to the cries of pleasure get louder and wilder. 

He was close, thinking about warning Anoctinum in case he wanted him out, when the blond gave a desperate sob. “Off!” he begged. 

It was a herculean task to stop. “What?” He asked. 

“Please!” Anoctinum sobbed, hands gripping his arms desperately. “Off!” 

Noct thought he might die. “You want me to stop...?” 

“Stop?! No! No stop!” he cried out frantically. “Off! Please, it off!” 

What was he talking about? Noct frowned down at him. “I don’t...understand...?” 

The blond reached down and cupped his own dick, giving a whine of desperation. “Off... Please?” 

Noct looked. Really properly looked. Anoctinum’s dick looked red, almost angrily red, and covered in slick. His balls looked full and heavy... And then he spotted what Anoctinum meant. There was a golden ring, fastened tight around the base of his cock. 

Oh, Shiva’s tits. He was the worst. How did he not notice that? “Sorry,” he said, and moved his hand down to unfasten the catch and slip the ring up the rock-hard dick. He tossed it over his shoulder, not caring where the hell it landed. Fuck that thing. 

“Better?” 

Anoctinum didn’t know that word, the confusion was obvious in his eyes. But his relief was even more so, and Noct smiled. He began to fuck in again, making sure to push as much as he could against the nub of nerves that made this feel good for them both. 

They were quick to get back into the fast paced rhythm, and before Noct was ready to warn him that he was about to come – Anoctinum almost screamed with pleasure. The muscles around him clenched, tight as a vice, and Noct _felt_ his cum – exploding hard against their stomachs, a bit launching far enough to hit the prince in the face. 

It was hotter than anything Noct had ever even possibly imagined, and he was coming with a cry, spending himself into the channel that _milked_ him with rippling muscles. Greedily sucking in his cum. 

His arms trembled, holding him upright, and he looked down at the dazed expression on Anoctinum’s face. Noct could tell he wasn’t even really there – lost in a post-orgasmic daze that looked better than any the prince had ever felt. 

He was reluctant to move, but he made himself. He headed to the bathroom and got a couple of warm, moist towelette from the mini-heater thing built into the counter. When he got back to the bedroom, Anoctinum was pushing the plug back into himself, and then collapsing bonelessly on the mattress. 

Noct wiped them both clean, smiling at the blond’s content hum. He tossed the towels lazily towards the laundry basket in the corner and lay down. He spooned up behind Prompto, kissing his shoulder at the happy hum that answered the movement, and wrapped the blankets around them both. 

Anoctinum was perfect.


	24. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Mentions (but not graphic descriptions of): vomiting, blood tests.

It was so easy to fall into a new routine. Maybe that was just the way Prompto thought about life – in terms of the ins-and-outs of daily life.   


So far, latest routine was his favourite. 

He woke in the morning, not to Aunt Aranea’s cruelly jerking the curtains open and barking at him to wake up, but to Ignis calmly telling Noctis he only had ten more minutes to stay in bed. This was followed by pulling on warmed clothes from the foot of the mattress and dressing to go out to a delicious, warm breakfast. Ignis wouldn’t let him have _coffee_ , the jerk, but he did make a fantastic honeyed tea. 

He’d stay in the prince’s suite until Noct himself was dragged out. (He’d been grumpily instructed not to use ‘your highness’, or ‘highness’, or ‘sir’, **or** ‘Noctis’ when addressing him, _just Noct. Okay. Noct?_

He never dared outside these rooms. Or to Ignis. But to Noct, and inside his head? He let himself. He wanted to be on a name-basis with the guy he was sleeping with. But… he still held himself back from telling Noct his own. His name, his own name, was something secret. Something squirrelled away that he wouldn’t dare tell anyone about. Some part of him that didn’t belong to anyone else. 

After a grumpy, half-asleep Noct kissed his forehead and was herded off to the bathroom by his advisor, Prompto pulled on his shoes and headed back to his own rooms. 

Aunt Aranea was always waiting for him when he stepped in. She was shameless about undressing him, looking his body over with a hyper-critical eye. Then she’d remove the plug and shoo him off to the bathroom. 

Dressed, clean and refreshed, he’d go back out and Aunt Aranea would take him to the Handmaid’s gym to go through his regular exercises. After, he’d sit with Aunt Aranea – unless it was a Feast Day, then he’d go to the temple. If it was close to Shiva’s or Leviathan’s feast days, he was allowed to work on offerings. Otherwise, most days, he had to sit still and quiet and ‘ _meditate on conception_ ’. That was the worst – he was never good at sitting still; and Aunt Aranea was liberal with the button if he squirmed too much or jiggled his legs. 

At ten, on the princess’s day, or sometimes after if it was Anyvna’s, the door would knock. Prompto would put on his shoes and wings, and follow either Lady Iris or Anyvna down to the indoor gardens for a walk. Anyvna preferred the warmed enclosures where spring was encouraged all year round; he and the princess preferred to wander the Winter Garden. 

Anyvna was mere days away from birth now, and her walks were insufferably short – he’d be back in Aunt Aranea’s clutches too soon. The princess was busy, but she spared him half an hour if she could. 

When he returned to his room, it would be blissfully empty. If he was working on an offering, he’d continue that – if not, he’d laze around in bed and practice his Lucian. He was coming along in leaps and bounds, either thanks to playing video games or talking with Noct. 

At noon, the door would open and Aunt Aranea would arrive with the disgusting green drink that she still insisted he have, every day. He’d choke it down – it seemed to be getting more and more disgusting day-by-day. Then he’d have his daily ‘lessons’, where Aunt Aranea would feed him the usual crap about his duty to the prince, and to the empire – and make him repeat basic Lucian phrases on an endless loop. 

Around five, when the lessons had finished, Ignis or the tall Amicitia who guarded Noct would arrive and let them both know that he was expected in the prince’s chambers at six. Every night! Prompto felt _spoilt_ by the attention. Noct must spend more time with him than his wife. 

He’d bath, make sure he was clean inside and out, then make sure he was prepped and ready and plugged before stepping out. Before he was allowed to dress, Aunt Aranea would weigh him and measure all over his torso. At first, she’d scolded him furiously about his weight gain – but after it was clear that Noct wasn’t going to let her control all his meals any more, she’d stopped. 

Then she’d dress him and escort him to the prince’s chambers. Dinner, video games – sometimes while Noct complained his way through a stack of paperwork – bed, fantastic sex, sleep. Sometimes sex again if they woke up in the middle of the night. 

Then back to the beginning again. More comfort and pleasure than he’d ever expected to have in his life, even before he found out what he was. Orphans didn’t exactly end up with the best lifestyles. 

And then, one lunchtime, just a couple weeks after he and Noct had started banging on the reg, the routine took a sudden twist. He was choking down the horrid green slimy sludge of a drink when an absolutely overwhelming feeling overcame him. He jolted violently out of his seat, not giving a single shit as the glass dropped and smashed on the carpet. He raced his own gag reflex to the bathroom. 

A few swallows of green first, and then an unsightly mess that was what was left of breakfast. He sagged heavily on the porcelain toilet bowl, catching his breath and hoping the nausea would fade away quickly. 

Aunt Aranea arrived in the doorway, something glittering in her pale golden eyes. “I trust this wasn’t some sort of childish manoeuvre to get out of drinking your health juice?” She asked. 

He groaned, giving another retch and spitting saliva into the clean bowl. “ _No, honoured Aunt_.” 

“Very good. I’ve had a chair brought up, and the royal physician has been notified to expect you. Get up now, and come to the door.” 

Every step sent off another rolling wave of nausea, but before too long he was sinking into the wheelchair. She pushed him to the elevator, and then after it sunk to the right floor, to the doctor’s examination room. A nurse gave Prompto a packet of lemon and peppermint hardboiled candies to suck on for his nausea, and then bossily herded Aunt Aranea out of the room. 

“ _He’s under the Lucian Handmaid laws now_ ,” the nurse as saying in brusque Lucian, “ _an aunt presence is not necessary, and her highness has requested his privacy_!” 

The door closed behind them and Prompto focused on the flavours of the candy as he sucked. It did help to reduce his nausea, surprisingly. By the time the doctor came in, he felt much calmer. 

“Anoctinum,” the doctor greeted, sitting on a desk chair with wheels and scooting closer to him. He placed down one of Ignis’s translator devices on the bed for Prompto. “Aunt Highwind said you’ve been sick?” 

He nodded, grabbing the device to type into it. “Yeah, just before. I threw up lunch.” 

The doctor nodded, and typed into a computer. “Were you eating anything unusual?” 

He shifted restlessly. “No. The usual. A fruit and vegetable juice.” 

The doctor hummed and typed. “Anything solid with the drink?” 

“No, sir.” 

A slight furrow in the doctor’s brows, but he didn’t comment on that. “Your allocated Aunt prepares this drink?” 

“Yeah. Aunt Aranea.” 

More typing. More questions. 

Have you eaten anything new or unusual in the past 12 hours? _No_. Done any excessive exercise or straining activities? _No_. Have you been feeling nervous or guilty about anything? _No_. Have you received any recent head injuries? _No_. Are you aware of anyone you’ve been in contact with recently been sick? _No. Maybe Anyvna? She’s nearly to term._

“When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?” 

Prompto choked as he read the words on the screen. Face pink, he looked down at the translator instead of up at the doctor. “Last night.” 

A very slight pause. “With the prince?” 

He flushed, and gave an outraged “ _yes_!” in answer. 

“And before that?” 

Even more blood rushed to his cheeks. “The night before… and before… y’know.” 

“…for how long has the nightly intercourse been going?” 

“…about a month,” he mumbled, feeling embarrassed to be sharing that information. That was between the two of them, not everyone in the world. 

The doctor typed a bit more and turned to face him. “I’d like to examine your stomach. Could you remove or lift your shirt?” Prompto picked to lift it, and the doctor drummed his fingers over different spots on his stomach. Satisfied, he gave Prompto permission to let his shirt down, and went back to typing in the computer. 

After a moment, he turned to face Prompto. “Well it doesn’t seem like there’s anything serious to worry about. It’s probably just one of the items in the juice disagreed with you. But, just to be safe, I’d like to take a blood sample. Is that alright?” 

Well used to blood samples at his doctor’s visit, he began rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. “Yeah.” 

He looked away at the sharp pinch in his arm, counting down until it was removed, and a swap was taped into place. “Why don’t you lie down and rest? I’ll come back with the test results as soon as I have them. Do you need anything?” 

He shook his head and heard footsteps retreating out of the room. Prompto let his mind wander. Had anybody told Noct he was at the doctor’s? Would he be worried? He hoped it would be Ignis to tell him. Ignis would know how to phrase it to keep him calm. 

The door opened, and he opened one eye to look at the doctor coming in, frowning down at a sheet of paper. He sat up on one elbow. _Everything okay_?” He asked in Lucian. Everything. He remembered when Noct taught him that word. He smiled to himself at the memory. 

Prompto picked up the translator so they could talk. 

“Nothing to be concerned about.” The doctor sat down. “Is your Aunt prescribing you fertility supplements?” 

He shifted. “Yeah?” Well… sort of. If you counted his ear piercing telling brain to overproduce the hormones that made him ready. 

“The hormones in your blood are quite muddied. I suggest you ween off the supplements for now, so we can get a clean reading.” He turned to the computer. “In the meantime, I’ll forward these results to… Aranea Highwind, is it?” 

He nodded, and paused. If it was important, she might not tell him. “And Ignis Scientia?” He requested. 

The doctor nodded. “Of course. Would you like the orderly to take you back to your room?” 

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “No, it’s alright. I’ll walk. Thank you, Doc.” 

He took a long, meandering way back up his rooms. The less time he spent with Aunt Aranea, the better. When he stepped into the room, she glared at him. “Well, what did the doctor say?” 

She must not have gotten the email yet. He settled into the red armchair. “ _Something I ate. But…_ ” he hesitated. 

“But?” She prompted impatiently. 

“ _The doctor… suggested I stop taking fertility supplements_.” He gave her a significant look from under his eyelashes. 

“Why?” She demanded suspiciously. 

He shrugged, still watching her carefully. “ _Get a clean test_.” 

The same sparkle in her eye from earlier returned. “I see. Lay down on the bed, I’ll adjust the settings on your ring.” 


	25. Chapter Twenty

Prompto felt strange. He woke up only a couple hours after he and Noct had fallen asleep, naked and wrapped up in the prince’s arms. He couldn’t put a name to it, but he felt _strange_. 

It had been the night of The Ceremony, and they’d fucked in between Princess Lunafreya’s legs. She’d gotten out of bed as soon as possible, pulling a silky robe over her fancy nightgown. “Glad to see you two are getting along,” she said, a smile on her lips. But there was something like discomfort in her eyes. She sat by the mirror and took out a hairbrush to sweep through her still perfectly-arranged hair. “Hopefully this will be the last month we have to do this, hm?” 

“ _What’s she saying_?” Noct whispered, “ _why are you upset_?” 

“ _I’m fine_ ,” he said, though he could feel his eyes watering. “ _Up. Clean sheets._ ” 

Noct, as always, was reluctant to get up out of the bed. But he rolled over and headed over to the bathroom to wash off. Prompto stood, wiped himself clean on the large towel, and bundled it up to put in the laundry basket. It was part of his job as a Scarlet, though this was the first time he’d actually done it. 

The prince wanted him, his body and his company. Even Prompto couldn’t deny that, with the last month of evidence to compare it against his own fears. But what about the princess? 

She still walked with him, every other day. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy that time with him. But she seemed nothing but uncomfortable in bed with them. Was she angry at him? Was she bitter about the nights Noctis spent with him, instead of with her? 

_Hopefully this will be the last month we have to do this, hm?_ What did that mean? Was it because it had been six months, and he was a Lucian citizen? Was she expecting him to leave? To break their arrangement and leave them in their marriage in peace… 

Or was she hoping he was pregnant? So she could finally have her baby, finally. And he could finally have served his purpose for her. She didn’t want more children, didn’t want anything more from him than this. Didn’t want to spend another night in his company. 

The room was shuddering strangely, and he could hear some sort of weird gusting noise. It was when he felt a drop of water on his hands, still clenched around the bed towel, that he realised it was him. He was crying. He gave a low keen, hating himself for his own patheticness, and gave himself over to the heavy sobs that were wracking his body. Why was he so _pathetic_? 

“Oh, Anoctinum, darling.” Gentle hands turned him. The princess was almost the same height as him, but he had to raise his face to meet her gaze. “What is it? Why are you sad?” 

“ _You don’t want me_ ,” he sobbed out. “ _Why aren’t I enough_ ?” 

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she said tenderly. She embraced him, rubbing a gentle hand down the silk shirt of his back. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Dear Anoctinum. Would you look at me?” 

He pulled back, just enough, to look at her face again. She was wearing a tender smile, and she cupped his cheek with a gentle, soft touch. “It is not you. There is nothing about you that is not enough.” 

He sniffled, dropping his eyes back down to their feet. “ _Then why…?_ ” 

She gently kissed him. “I’m asexual, darling,” she murmured against his lips. “And sex-averse at that,” she continued, pulling back slightly. “It’s being present for the sex that makes me uncomfortable, Anoctinum. Not that the two of you are having it.” She tucked a bit of yellow hair behind his ear. “It was my hope that we would have heard about you being with child by now.” 

He was reeling with the news. The princess was a sex-averse asexual. Why hadn’t she told him? No wonder he’d been getting do-not-want vibes from her tonight. “Oh.” 

She kissed him again. “Why don’t you go join Noctis in the shower? I have an early morning tomorrow.” 

After some… comfort from Noct in the shower, they tucked themselves clean into bed with Princess Lunafreya. But he didn’t sleep very long. 

He woke up, shivered restlessly, turned over in Noct’s arm. The prince kissed his cheek and grumbled, “ _too early._ ” 

Noct was totally right. It was way too early. But he felt _strange_. Something… _something_. A way of something came over him, then faded out. A sort of clenching and release he didn’t understand. 

He buried his face into Noct’s chest and tried to get to sleep. He kept waking up, with the weird sensation ebbing over him and disappearing. Was he going crazy, or were they lasting longer now? 

Eventually, he woke up again, and the princess was gently shaking his should. He could see Iris over her shoulder, hovering. “Hmph?” He mumbled out, barely coherent. 

“Anoctinum, wake up darling,” she was saying. 

“ _Why_?” He mumbled, wanting a reason before trying to herculean task of extracting himself from Noct’s sleeping limbs. 

“Anyvna’s going into labour,” she explained. “She’s asked for you. Iris will escort you to the Birthing Suite.” 

He jolted up, eager, getting a complaint from Noct as he was suddenly dislodged. “It’s today?” He asked eagerly. 

The princess gave a little smile and nodded. She handed him a fresh set of clothes. The typical robe, summery fabric, with sleeves to his elbows, pants – tighter than usual. The new part was a strange, billowy apron that went back and front. He stepped into it, pulling the straps over his shoulders. When it was on, he realised where he’d seen something similar before. 

He reminisced, as Iris led him through the palace. 

When he was twelve, he and his girlfriend snuck out of the orphanage and into the house of the local liege lord. Lady Ulldor was having a baby (or more accurately, her Empty was) and the house was full of so many people nobody bothered to comment on the gaping, quiet orphans. But there were plenty of people from the village there, standing in small groups and murmuring prayers. 

Lady Ulldor was laying in a bed, propped up by mountains of pillows, wearing a pure white nightgown. She was spindly thin, and her stomach was completely flat, but the crowd of noble wives around her were coaxing her in soothing voices to “push! Push! Breathe…” 

Behind a red curtain, there was a pained scream – masculine, but wailing with a pain no male should naturally be able to feel. “That’s the empty,” his girl had whispered. 

A hateful expression crossed the Lady Ulldor’s face. “Shut that thing up!” she snarled. The next scream petered out into weak moan. _Thing_ , Prompto remembered thinking, she’d called the Empty a thing. 

A woman, in the same white apron that kicked off the memory, was whispering to someone through the red curtain. Then she bustled over to the Lady’s side. “It’s time to push, my lady. Your baby is coming.” It was meant to sound hushed, but even Prompto could hear from the corner, half-obscured by a thick curtain. 

The wife pushed then – or rather, she screwed her face up almost like she was pushing. But her face never wrinkled around the mouth or eyebrows. From behind the curtain, a baby cried. (At the time, Prompto had felt something inside him _clench_ desperately. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now.) 

The midwife has bustled beyond the curtain, and when she came back out, she was holding a perfectly clean baby, wrapped in a powder blue blanket. “Your baby boy.” 

A loud prayer of thanks to the Tidemother had rose up around the house, even out into the village. Prompto and his girlfriend had taken that opportunity to slip back out into the snow and run away. 

That was really what he was expecting when he walked into the birthing suite. It couldn’t have been more different. 

The room was deliciously warm, but that’s all he could see at first. There was a thick, brocade curtain blocking the entrance – black, with gold and red designs. It was Mrs Ulric herself who greeted him at the door, smiling at him in welcome. “ _Please remove your shoes, Anoctinum. Would you like anything to drink_?” Or at least, he was pretty sure that was he said. 

He shook his head, too surprised to actually answer. He stepped out of his shoes and placed them in one of the many square cubbies built into the wall by the door. A thick pair of combat boots – Mrs Ulric was part of the Kingsglaive too – and a set of sensible nurse’s shoes were the only others there, but it seemed like they would be expecting more. 

Once he stepped through, his eyes adjusted to the dim candle-light. The room was spacious, but the walls were covered in the curtains, giving the room a cosy, close feeling. There was window, yes, but it was still dark outside. At the edges of the room, there were stacks of cushions – and in the centre was a large tub made of black marble. 

Mrs Ulric hurried over to the tub and knelt next to the edge. “ _Are you feeling okay, dear_?” 

Curious, Prompto crossed the room. As he got closer to the tub, he saw Anyvna lying inside the water. She beamed as soon as she saw him. “ _Anoctinum! You came…_ ” She held out a hand to him and he stepped across the soft rug-covered floor to take it. On the edge of the tub, there was a raised sort of step with a soft cushion that he sat on. 

Anyvna was naked, beneath the water. Her milk-heavy breasts floated atop the water, but her round, full belly was submerged. Her shoulders and knees peeked out of the water. Her head, the messy gold curls free and damp with sweat, was leaning against a thick cushion. 

A bath. It made sense. To immerse yourself in the tidemother’s element while performing her sacred task. 

“ _Is the water cold_?” Mrs Ulric asked gently, dipping her fingers into the water. 

Anyvna gave a little nod, and as Prompto watched, the Glaive raised a hand and it wreathed in flame. She pressed it against the side of the tub and Prompto could feel the tub warming. Anyvna gave a content little sigh and relaxed into the water. 

He felt the same strangeness that kept waking him up swept over him, a sort of clenching in the muscles of his lower stomach. He heard her give a tense sort of inhale, and take a few deep, calming breaths. An easing sigh left her lips, and at the same time Prompto felt his own muscles release. 

…oh. 

“ _Another_?” Mrs Ulric asked, her voice tender. 

Anyvna nodded. “ _Yeah, Crowe. Just a small one._ ” 

“ _Thirty minutes_.” 


	26. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> Semi-graphic childbirth in this chapter.

In the end, it was ninety hours from when Prompto entered the room, to when he heard the cry of the newborn baby. 

When the sun came up, hours in, more women drifted in and out of the room. Wives, servants, daughters of the citadel, and every Handmaid in the city. All the red-clad women wore the same white apron he was – it must be ceremonial or something. 

Delicious food was constantly in circulation, as well as sweet juices and – amongst the ladies in not-red colours – wine. Prompto helped himself, and fed Anyvna whenever she asked. Most of the time, she stayed in the bathtub, and his job was to drape cold cloths over her face and neck to make sure she didn’t overheat. But she got up to walk sometimes, or use the bathroom, and they changed to clean water while she was out. Mrs Ullric kept the water warm, but not too hot, using the same fiery magic. 

Prompto slept in small doses – couldn’t stay comfortable as sympathetic contracts wracked his body at the same time they did Anyvna’s. 

On the third day, they said the labour had properly begun. ( _What was the last three days then_?) The midwife and all the handmaids were brought in. Only he and Mrs Ullric had been present for the whole time, but once the labour started properly, the room was crowded with the one hundred handmaids in Insomnia. They ringed around the tub, kneeling on cushions, holding hands and murmuring to Anyvna much like Prompto had heard the wives doing back in Niflheim. 

_Breathe… breathe… breathe…_

Anyvna wailed with pain as the hours dragged on – and Prompto noticed more than one woman whose breaths stuttered like his, some whose red dressed went damp from leaking nipples. The whole room had a musky smell, like the dogs’ den near Lord Ullric’s house when the bitches gave birth. Everything was close, and warm, and waiting. 

When the word ‘crowning’ was murmured by the midwife, the room seemed to be in a flurry. Shortly after Sir Ulric rushed in – Aunt Monica very gently took Prompto aside so the Glaive could take his place, and he knelt instead at the head of the tub above Anyvna’s head. 

The chant had at some point shifted to _push… push… breathe!_ Prompto could see Anyvna’s hands clenching white-knuckled around her husband and wife’s with every push. 

The whole room seemed to contract, pressing inward, tensing with every cry and push the Handmaid gave. 

But the midwife’s expression was tense, a sort of weary anxiety about her eyes. Like something she had seen go wrong many, many times was happening again. 

Where was the Tidemother’s priestesses, the prayers for mercy and ease? They were going to miss it! He couldn’t sit and do nothing. 

Prompto leaned over the tub, pressed his forehead against Anyvna’s sweat-damp curls. He didn’t know the Lucian prayers, but he couldn’t do nothing while the midwife looked worried and the pushing dragged on. 

“Blessed stars of light and life,” he mumbled, his voice growing tight with pain as the Niflmal words squeezed in on his brain. The imagined but no less real pain of punishment for words. “Deliver us from darkness’ blight.” His fingers crunched as he gripped the tub in pain, Anyvna’s wail shuddered through his ears, too close and too loud. “Mother Leviathan,” he pressed on, “guide your daughter through—” He gasped in pain, screwed up his face to struggle against it “—through the sacred tide. Ebb and flow, let your daughter bring life unto this world as you bring water to the shore.” The pressure seemed to mount and burst in his head, he could taste copper and feel something dripping out of his nose. But he pushed on: “Goddess of the seas, of life and birth, I beseech you to grant your blessings and mercy upon Anyvna that she might bear life safely unto your world.” 

“ _What’s he doing_?” He heard a handmaid whisper, as he faltered. 

“ _He’s praying_.” 

“ _Why_?” 

His brain throbbed, the room around him listed. He could smell salt in the air, the brine of the sea at Altissia. “T…tidemother,” he gasped, trying to muscle his way through the pain, the encroaching darkness. 

“ _Should we pray too?_ ” 

“… _we might as well._ ” 

He opened his eyes. In the surface of the water, he could see blue eyes, slitted like a cat’s, staring back at him. “Tidemother,” he strained, feeling his tongue slur through the words. “I pray for your mercy, for your blessings to lay upon Anyvna, may she birth a healthy, lively child as you gave birth to our star.” 

Above a low murmur of prayers, like he heard in the citadel’s temple – the strong, ancient Lucian that he couldn’t get through his head – he heard the eager, loud voices of the Handmaids: “ ** _push_**!” 

Anyvna gave a loud, drawn out wail of pain, her head pushing back against Prompto’s, then a stillness overcame the room. He lost his grip on the real world for a moment, absorbed in his pain – he seemed to be rocking, like on the boat from Altissia, but something warm and gentle held him in a gentle embrace. Like he was underwater, or like he was being rocked in his mother’s arms. But he’d never had a mother, or an Empty, and he was almost positive he’d never been _rocked_. 

An infant cry pierced through the darkness. He felt himself back in his body, the headache ebbing away. He lifted his head, where it was hanging over the marble of the tub, and opened his eyes. The crying, screaming baby – red and covered in gunk – was handed over to Mrs Ulric. 

“ _A girl_!” the word was whispering around the circles of handmaids. 

“ _Do you have a name yet_?” The midwife asked. 

Mrs Ulric smiled and kissed Anyvna’s sweaty temple. “Aurelia.” 

Aurelia. She was so, _so_ small. Prompto couldn’t help his hands reaching out, wanting to touch. Mrs Ulric smiled and pressed the freshly born baby into his arms. Inside, like he had ten years ago at his first birth, he felt his womb _clench_ with want. He held the baby protectively, gently wiping her clean with his voluminous apron, as Anyvna went through the afterbirth, clinging to Sir and Mrs Ulric’s hands. 

The handmaids came, one by one, to rest their hands on the baby’s head. “Aurelia,” they all said, as they did. 

When Anyvna was washed and dressed in a white nightgown and lay down on a bed of comfortable cushions, Mrs Ulric gently took Aurelia from his hands and handed her over to her. She called him over and he knelt by her side, smiling. “ _You did good_ ,” he said. 

Her smile widened, even though she looked completely and utterly exhausted. “ _Thanks, Anoctinum_.” 

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, silently mouthing his thanks and gratitude to the Tidemother. He didn’t dare speak aloud again. 

When she had fallen asleep, Mrs Ulric touched his back with a kindly smile. “ _It’s been a long_ —” some word he didn’t know. “ _You can go wash and rest._ ” 

Aunt Monica took his sullied apron, and kissed his forehead with a murmured prayer. He stumbled out of the room, only now noticing how utterly exhausted he was. 

His own rooms seemed way too far and, slowly shuffling a turn, he headed instead to Noct’s rooms. He showered, maybe falling asleep against the wall for a minute or two or twenty, then headed naked out to the bedroom. 

Noct stirred as he stepped into the room, lifting the blankets in invitation. “ _Hey. S’done_?” The prince slurred. 

He nodded, and tucked into his warm side. “ _She’s fine. They’re fine. A girl._ Aurelia.” 

Noct hummed and kissed his forehead. Prompto whined and leaned up to steal the kiss for his lips. He pressed against the prince, feeling desperate, needy, _empty_. He slid a hand down Noct’s chest and into his pyjama pants, giving his perking dick a firm stroke. 

The prince made a sleepy, moaning mumble of uncertainty. “ _Anoctinum? Now?_ ” 

He rocked his hips forward into Noct’s. “ _Please_ ,” he mumbled. “ _I want you to give me a baby._ ” 

The prince hummed and rolled them, so he could reach for the bedside drawer. He tugged it open and pulled out a bottle of slick oil. “ _Okay. Anything you want, Anoctinum._ ” 

They rocked together, slow and tender, until Prompto didn’t feel so empty any more. Noct even had a plug in that drawer, not as wide, and longer, but he slid it in to keep his spend in for conception. Then they fell asleep, curled up in each other’s arms, exchanging slow and lazy kisses until they drifted off. 

He felt the bed rocking, and heard Ignis’s voice above them. He opened one eye and sleepily glared at the advisor from underneath Noct’s shoulder. 

“ _Too early_ ,” the prince was protesting. He almost always did. 

“ _I realise, your highness,_ ” Ignis was saying, his voice firm and unrelenting. “ _You have an emergency meeting_.” 

“ _With who_?” Noct muttered, arms tightening around Prompto. 

“Commodore Aranea Highwind.” 

Noct tensed up, and the air was still and quiet for a long moment. Too still. Too quiet. Prompto cracked open one eye. What was so important about a meeting with his Aunt? And what was she being called a Commodore for? That was a military rank. 

Noct kissed his neck and slid out of the bed. “ _Stay asleep, Anoctinum. Be back as soon as I can_.” 

Prompto just muttered in protest, rolled so he was snuggled up to the warm pillows, and dropped back into his sleep. If it was important, he’d find out later. 


	27. Chapter Twenty-One-And-A-Half

The women (and Empties now, he guessed) had their own traditions for a birth, and the men of Insomnia had theirs. A whisky-and-cigars tradition. Men lingered around the smoke-filled rooms, chatting in low murmuring voices. At first, they’d all lined up and toasted with Nyx to congratulate him. But the labour was well into its third day now, and now they just milled about impatiently and thought about all the work they had piling up.

The citadel came to a stop when a baby was being born, it was a rare event after all. Still, this was the first time Noct had been expected to go to the Waiting Room. He was _bored,_ and he missed _Anoctinum._

Iggy came to his side, handing him a glass of water. The whisky had run out two days ago, and nobody had made more effort than a mention about getting more. “How are you bearing up, Noct?”

He shrugged, sipping at the tumbler of water. “Does it usually take this long?” He complained.

Specs pursed his lips slightly. “Sometimes,” he ventured. His voice pitched lower, “not usually, without Complications.”

 _Complications_. It was a bad word, he knew. Whispered around the room whenever the midwife appeared to tell them “no, not yet”. Said with worried frowns, and a sort of tired resignation. Never said close enough to Nyx that he might hear it. 

Noct swallowed down the water in one drink and set down the glass. Then he exhaled heavily and glanced at Nyx. The expectant father was restless, summoning and banishing his weapons with quick twitches of his hands. 

“Hopefully soon it will be you we’ll be waiting with,” Iggy ventured carefully. 

Noct sighed and folded his arms under his chest. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

That caused a slight twitch upwards of Iggy’s eyebrows. “You don’t know?” 

“I mean, it’s been a month now, hasn’t it? Shouldn’t we have heard by now that he is, if he’s going to?” He asked sourly. 

Ignis’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “Ah. There is something I have to discuss with you, regarding an email I received. But that can wait until after we hear the news.” Not the good news, just the news. As time dragged on, nobody was really expecting good news any more. Three days was so long. 

He took a glass of juice from a passing tray, draining half of it in one swallow. Then he tipped the glass around, watching the juice swish about the cup. “What if it’s me?” He asked, his voice low and nervous. 

Specs pushed up the accessory that earned him his nickname. “I shouldn’t think it is. We ran thorough tests, before your betrothal to Lady Lunafreya. All is as normal, there. But if you are concerned, we can run them again if you wish.” 

He cringed at the memory of the swathe of embarrassing tests when the empire had extended the sensation. “Maybe.” Hopefully not. Hopefully Anoctinum would be... soon. 

He looked over at his father, sitting with Nyx and talking with a solemn, regal expression. His own mother – Aregina – had been King Regis’s childhood friend. He may have married her, if she hadn’t taken the red – as they called it. His father had never married, but had taken a Handmaid. Which... wasn’t unheard of, but was usually only in the old, noble families. Gladio and Iris didn’t have a second mother either, but Aclaruna was very fond of the former in the eight years before... 

Complications. 

Complications was a bad word. Aclaruna had _complications_ , and Iris had grown up without any sort of mother. Aregina had _complications_ too, and Noct had never got the little brother or sister he’d been excited about. He’d never heard Ignis talk about his parents, but there was something bone-weary about him at every Waiting they had to attend that made Noct think he knew about _complications_ too. 

The door opened, and Iris stuck her head in. She gave Nyx a brave smile. “It’s time,” she announced. 

The room was hushed. Regis put a hand down on Nyx’s shoulder and squeezed. In an explosion of movement, the Glaive thrust open the window and threw himself out of it, the familiar sound of warping followed shortly after. The group of men laughed at his antics and, a few people begun to leave. 

Noctis set down his glass. Iggy glanced at him. “You won’t be staying to hear the news?” 

“Anoctinum will tell me, when he comes back,” he said through a yawn. If there were _complications_ he at least wanted to hear about them _after_ a full night of rest. 

The large bed, which he’d always had to himself before the last month, suddenly felt far too empty. He sighed and stretched out his limbs, wanting to find his Scarlet at the touch of his fingers. He fell asleep, still grasping for someone who wasn’t there. 

He stirred awake when he heard the door to his suite open, waiting. The footsteps, shuffling with tiredness, headed towards the bathroom, and Noct settled down to doze again. It was Anoctinum, back from the Birthing Suite. Specs would’ve come directly to wake him up, and Gladio would’ve sat down on the chair to wait. Nobody else would invite themselves into the... shower, he confirmed, as he heard the water turn on. 

He stirred again when footsteps approached the bed, lifting the sheets. He slurred something, he couldn’t remember what. But Anoctinum gave him _good news_. They were fine. Cindy and... Aurelia. 

He gave a smile and kissed Anoctinum’s forehead. It was a sweet tradition, these days, to name the child after the Handmaid. He twitched a little closer to wakefulness as he felt lips under his, instead of skin. A familiar body pressing against his own had his dick twitching with interest, and soon a warm hand closed around it. “Now?” He asked, surprised. Wasn’t Anoctinum tired? But his Scarlet begged. _Give me a baby_. He made love to him, slow and tender, and fell asleep still exchanging kisses. The bed was warm and full again. 

It felt like only minutes before he was waking up, Specs trying to rouse him from his bed. A meeting? Who _cared_?

But then Iggy said a name. “Commodore Aranea Highwind.” Commodore. It was an Imperial term, from their armies. He tensed as soon as he heard it. The tension seemed to wake Anoctinum, who clung to him tighter. 

But now he had to leave the bed. He made his Scarlet stay behind, where he could be safe, until whatever this was got sorted out. Iggy stuffed him into a formal-looking suit and tried to force some sort of order to his hair before they left the room. 

“What’s going on, Specs?” He asked through a yawn, as they headed down to his official audience chamber. “Why can’t this wait until morning?” 

“The Commodore requested the meeting. I believe the matter was important enough to require some urgency.” 

Noct scowled. “Is this about the investigation? Why is she still _here_ Specs? Anoctinum is a citizen now.” He grumbled. 

He’d heard Iggy’s and Luna’s excuses before – that they needed to gather _proof_ , that even if he _was_ a prince, he couldn’t just throw Imperial citizens in the dungeons because he felt like it, that if they let on they knew Aunt Highwind might flee. He expected some rendition of them again. 

Instead, Spec’s expression grew even more grim. “I doubt I could explain it in time. You’ll see for yourself in a moment.” Then he held the door open to the audience chamber. 

Noct stepped inside, eyes immediately sweeping over the room. There was a woman in black leathers with red and white accents. She had a black cloak, adorned with dragon wings. Some sort of barred, elaborate helmet was sitting on the table next to her. She turned to look at him, and her voice drawled. “So, you’ve brought a pretty boy. You going to explain now, Glasses?” 

Ignis was annoyed, and grim. “Commodore, this is Noctis Lucis Caelum. Your highness, this is Commodore Aranea Highwind, of the Imperial Army.” 

She gave a lazy salute. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? I’m not getting paid for this.” 

Noct just... stared. This was not the woman he knew. Everything from the skin-tight black leather, to her posture, to her drawling almost sarcastic speech, to the green eyes that stared out of his face. This was not the golden-eyed Aunt in charge of his Handmaid. 

“Shall we proceed with your enquiry?” Ignis said, gesturing for her to take a seat. 

She did, sprawling into the seat as if it was a throne she owned. “Care to tell me why I’m getting emails from your royal doctor asking whether I think the blood test results for the Empty in my charge indicate whether or not I, in my professional opinion, think it indicates he’d pregnant or not?” 

Noct made a shocked noise and turned a glance on his advisor. 

Specs pushed his frames up his name and gave her a cool look. “If you did not believe it concerned you, why bother coming to investigate?” 

“Girls like me? All we got is our names. And if someone’s using it other than me, I got a bone I wanna pick with them.” 

Noct floundered in his confusion. “ _You’re_ Aranea Highwind?” 

“The one and only.” 

He whirled on his advisor. “Then who the hell do you have looking after my Scarlet, Specs?” 

“I need you to calm down so I can explain,” Ignis replied coolly. 

“I’m as calm as I’m gonna get!” 

“I forwarded an invitation to the Commodore to engage her as an Aunt for Anoctinum—”

“That old thing. I get at least five of them a week,” she sneered, rolling her eyes. 

“I did not receive a response but, who we now know as Aunt Highwind showed up. She matched the photograph, how was I to know—?” 

“You put him in **danger**!” Noct roared, stepping forward aggressively. He felt electricity sparking down his fingertips and fought to control his wild elemancy. 

“As interesting as all this drama is,” the Commodore interrupted, pushing onto her feet. “I don’t get paid overtime. Tell me where I can get my hands on this imposter and you two can argue as long as you like.” 

Iggy grit his jaw and turned his attention to her. “We will take care of the matter on our own. I’ll see to it that your...displeasure about the identity theft if well-known.” 

Her lip curled up in amusement. “I like you, Glasses.” She crossed to pick up her helmet. “The answer is ‘yes’, by the way.” 

“Your pardon?” He asked carefully. 

“My ‘ _professional opinion_ ’ on whether your shortcake is knocked up. Seen those sorts of hormones on a very lucrative Aunt job. You see ‘em when the Empties have those Doll Rings on.” 

Tension filled the air, and Noct felt something clench tightly in his stomach. “...Doll Rings?” 

She made a small gesture with her finger. Looping her finger in a ring at her ear. “Dunno what they’re really called. We call ‘em Doll Rings.” 

Ignis was stiff, tense, staring at the Commodore with a completely expressionless face. “The daith piercing?” 

“Bingo.” She pulled a face. “Besithia keeps coming up with more and more horrible ideas. The Empty I babysat for had one. At it’s base, it kicks their fertility hormones into overdrive. But you can do all sorts with ‘em. The couple I worked for used it to turn theirs into a brainless sex doll.” She shuddered, clawed gloves clenching around the helmet. “I’ll do a lot for money, but even _I_ got my limits.” 

Noct felt very calm as he left the room. Stepped into the adjoining bathroom, lifted the lid of the toilet, and puked up everything he’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours. 

“He didn’t know?” The Commodore’s voice was muffled through the door. 

“None of us knew.” There was a long pause. “Commodore, how would you like to come work for the Crown of Lucis? It’s Aunt work, but I give you my word it wouldn’t cross your limits.” 

“That all you got, Glasses?” 

“It will include Overtime.” 

“...I’m listening.” 

"I'll double your current salary." 

" _Now_ we're talking."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Two

Noct wasn’t there where Prompto woke, and there was no breakfast. No big deal, right. Ignis had told him he was always welcome to use the fridge whenever he was hungry. He’d make something for breakfast, then head back to his rooms. Aunt Aranea was bound to have _something_ to say about his absence over the past few days. 

He opened the fridge and looked in, lips pursed as he looked over the contents. There were eggs, that was usual for breakfast. He grabbed a couple out and a mixing bowl, cracking them and grabbing a fork to whisk them together. 

The smell was unpleasant in his nostrils, and watching the slimy yellow mixture with distaste. How long had it been since he cooked? 

He turned the hotplate on and tipped the eggs into a skillet. He scrambled the eggs lazily around, adding a bit of salt and pepper. But when he put it onto a plate, and brought it up to his nose it turned out to be a huge mistake. 

He bolted to the sink. He groaned unhappily and turned the water on to wash the sick down. The eggs must’ve been off. He tipped the contents of the plate into the bin, and then added the rest of the dozen from the fridge into it too. Gross. Ignis was usually more on top of things than that. 

He browsed over the contents of the fridge, wrinkling his nose a little at what he saw. After the eggs, his stomach felt queasy and the thought of most of these foods made it twist in disgust. Eventually he grabbed out the pickles, and the chocolate sauce. Then he shuffled into the pantry until he found the peanut butter. He made up a sandwich and sat on top of the kitchen counter to eat it. 

He watched the door expectantly as he made his way through two or three (okay, _four_ ) sandwiches, but Noct never reappeared. He sighed unhappily. He didn’t get his morning kiss yet. 

Sulking, he left the room without putting away any of the sandwich ingredients. It was a little petty, but he wanted Noct to know he was not happy about being left behind in the morning. 

Dressing in some clean robes from his drawer of Noct’s closet, he slipped into his shoes and headed back through the castle. 

When he stepped into his rooms, they were dark. The curtains were pulled closed, and the shutters behind them. There was a slit of light coming through the open bathroom door, and it back-lit the silhouette sitting in the armchair turned to face the door. A glint of glowing gold peeked out of the darkness. 

Prompto stepped back, fear rising in him. The figure rose and Prompto shivered fearfully. They looked so tall, towering over the small armchair. He fumbled against the wall and flicked the lightswitch. 

It was Aunt Aranea. She was standing there, golden eyes unimpressed as she stared him down. Must have been the light, weird from the bathroom, making her silhouette weirdly big. 

“Aunt Aranea,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “ _You scared me_.” He started stepping out of his shoes. 

“Leave those on, we’re going for a walk,” Aunt Aranea said. She pulled on some sort of sweeping black coat. She pulled a grey hooded scarf with black rose designs on it on over the top. “Well, shall we?” 

He grabbed his cloak and wings, putting them on and following the Aunt out of the room. The halls were strangely empty as they walked through the citadel, and out the side gate. 

“ _I’m not really supposed to be out of the citadel without informing anyone_ ,” he mumbled. 

“You’re with me. I’m your assigned Aunt, you’re allowed to be with me.” There was something tight about her voice, impatient. 

“ _Yes, Aunt Aranea_ ,” he said quietly. Something queasy was twisting through his stomach. He glanced around them. Where was everyone? Even if it wasn’t the usual time for shopping, in an area that wasn’t the main thoroughfare, there should be someone about town. “ _How was your meeting_?” 

“My meeting?” Aunt Aranea echoed, her face totally innocent. 

“ _Lord Scientia took his highness to a meeting with you this morning…?_ ” He remembered that part right. “ _He said Commodore Aranea Highwind._ ” 

“Yes. That meeting. You do not need to concern yourself about that.” She began walking faster, turning down a rundown side street. 

His stomach churned. “ _I don’t feel well_.” 

Her hand clenched on his arm and it _hurt_. Her nails must be sharp, because they dug in like claws. 

“ _You’re hurting me_!” he said. 

“Shut up, Prompto.” 

He stiffened. “ _H-how…_ ” 

They came to a stop on a bridge. The water underneath was freezing, but moving swiftly. There were chunks of ice rushing by. “Sit up on the edge, Prompto.” 

He shook his head rapidly. “ _N-no. It’s not safe._ ” 

She stepped forward aggressively. One hand on his chest, she pushed him forward against the concrete-and-steel barrier. She had too much strength for her petite frame. “Sit up on the edge of the bridge, or this will be more painful than it needs it needs to be.” 

He swallowed anxiously and, on shaky hands, lifted himself up so he was perched on the edge. He could feel the air behind him, and it made him feel like he was falling. “ _What’s going on_?” 

“Stay still.” She held up a familiar device to his ears. He heard a familiar high-pitched tone in his ear. “This is a long process. Just stay still.” 

“What are you doing?” He gritted his teeth together and it was a moment to realise he’d just spoken Niflmal, without any pain. “What—?” 

“You could have had a calm an easy life,” she said impatiently. 

There was something shifting. The face was changing, the sharp edges of her pointed features broadening, widening. Stubble crossed the square jaw until he wasn’t looking at Aranea anymore. He was looking at a purple-haired man with the same golden, golden eyes. 

“You could’ve lived comfortable in the Citadel with your brat of a lover, raising his royal bastards. But you couldn’t be a good little pawn, kept your mouth shut and done what I told you. But no. You had to make them suspicious, and now I have to flee.” 

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Prompto stuttered. 

“Right now, I’m extracting your memories of the past six months. Then you’re going to take a little dip. The city is going to go into a panic about the Crown Prince’s royal surrogate disappearing, but he won’t be found. In about, oh, eight months or so, handsome stranger Ardyn Izunia is going to show up, with the missing Empty, and his royal bastard. He’ll be welcomed as a hero, given a position of privilege. Slowly, perhaps by the time the young prince or princess is grown up, he’ll be a trusted member of the inner circle.” 

Prompto licked his lips. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, a fuzzy feeling sweeping in waves over his brain. “What’s that got to do with me, Sir?” 

The purple-haired man smirked, eyes glinting with something victorious. “The extraction is almost complete. Good.” 

He shook his head a little, trying to shake off the weird ringing in his ears. “Extraction of what?” He slurred, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth. The words feeling strange on his tongue. 

“In a minute, you’re going to fall asleep,” the man said, his voice so calm and soothing. “When you wake up, your brain is going to fill in the blanks for you. You’re an escaped Empty from the Empire. You’ve had three failed placements in the past six months, and you didn’t want to be decommissioned. Your last placement was in Altissia, and rather than be caught by the Aunts, so you boarded a boat to Lucis to flee.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah I did.” He was… so tired. His eyes felt heavy, and every blink felt slow. Impossible to resist. He should just… let them close… lean back. 

A hand gripped his shoulder. “Uh-uh-uh. Not yet.” 

“Sorry, sir.” He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t. 

“You’re going to find somewhere safe, and remote, with people you trust. You’re going to hide out – you know you have to work for six months to become a Lucian citizen.” 

“Y-yeah. Six months, sir.” He should probably remember that. Seemed important. 

“Good. Good boy, Prompto. Now just close your eyes, and let yourself lie back. Go to sleep…” 

He hummed and leaned back. He slipped, he should probably be worried about that. He was falling… falling… falling… 

He jolted awake, something restraining him across the chest. He looked around, panicked, then slowly relaxed. He was in a red, convertible vehicle, and they were speeding down a desert. The restraint was a seatbelt, and he’d been dreaming. 

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” He glanced over at the driver, a smiling purple-haired man. “We’re almost at Insomnia.” 

No… Insomnia was bad for some reason. Too close, too crowded. “Can you let me off wherever soon?” He mumbled, “Mister…uh…?” 

“Izunia,” the man answered, smiling. “Ardyn Izunia. You were half asleep and delirious from cold when I found you on the riverbank.” 

“Mm. Thanks again, for that.” 

“My pleasure.” He pulled the car into a gas station – with a huge metal hammerhead hanging over the top for shade, and a mechanic’s garage, and a diner. “This is the last stop before the Insomnia check-point. It’s here or the city, my boy.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, reaching for his seatbelt. “I don’t… have any money or anything to give you for gas…” 

“Don’t worry about it, my dear boy. A good deed is its own reward.” He smiled. “Stay safe, Prompto Argentum.” 

He beamed at the man and climbed out of the car. “Thanks, sir.” 


	29. Chapter Twenty-Three

Prompto ran – okay, there was definitely no running going on – but he waddled speedily into the garage. “Cid! Cid, they’re here!”

A rough hock and a spit. “Already? They don’t even open the city gates this early!” 

“Huh? Oh! Not your granddaughter!” he laughed, waddling around the broken-down truck to find the grouchy old mechanic lying down on a roller board, half-under the cab. “My citizenship papers! They’re here.” 

With a painful groan that was only understood by people in chronic pain, Cid Sophair scooted himself out from underneath the truck. “Came in on the mail truck?” 

“Uh-huh! You’re looking at _Prompto Argentum_ , Lucis’s newest citizen!” He beamed brightly. 

“Proud of you, kid – but get your ass outta here before you breathe in the wrong fumes!” 

Prompto laughed, and went to go show Takka too. The jumpy chef only started a bit when he called for him – probably the loudness of his voice. He didn’t flinch at Prompto’s presence any more. Months of work to get there, but he was glad they were. 

Takka treated him to a congratulatory breakfast – eggs fried in leiden peppers on a bed of beans, with lots of crispy bacon on the side. At least he could _finally_ stand the smell of eggs again. The first five months living next to Takka’s shop had been hell from reverse-cravings. 

But he was seven months along now – according to the Galdin doctor that drove up every two weeks to check on everyone. Well into third trimester, when cravings and all that were supposed to have stopped. 

What was the saying? First three weary, second three cheery, last three dreary? He was _pretty_ sure weary wasn’t supposed to mean ‘crying every thirty minutes on the dot’, ‘throwing up every time something smells too strong’ and ‘eating everything that he could’ but that’s how it worked for him. He’d only really had two months of that, since he hadn’t even _known_ he was pregnant when he left Altissia. But the doc had been quick to suss it out when he’d said he was throwing up regularly, but still looked healthy and – much to his horror – getting plumper by the day. 

The second trimester had been... odd. He was suddenly burning with energy and horny as fuck. He was still liable to cry over some things. Especially when he _really_ started to fatten up. If ‘cheery’ was supposed to mean ‘unbearably restless’ then spot on, old saying! He’d reorganised the general store three times a week at one point there. 

And then, four weeks ago, the baby had kicked. His _baby_. He teared up just thinking about it now. He was fat and grumpy and his joints ached, and he was paranoid he’d never see his dick or his feet again, but he had a baby. There was a _life_ growing inside of him, _and he didn’t have to give it away to the snobs who thought hiring a programmed clone was okay_. A _baby_!

Most of the regulars seemed to be able to control themselves, but the rare tourist who came through couldn’t seem to be able to stop gushing over his round belly. The shrieks of delight when strangers’ hands felt a kick filled up some part of him that was unbearably sad that he wasn’t sharing this with anyone. 

A kindly old lady, who was moving to Lestallum from Longwythe, had knitted him the cutest little baby booties with a pink ribbon. 

(“Pink?” He’d asked, surprised. 

She had only winked at him. “Where she’s sitting. All perky and round, that’s a girl in there!”) 

After munching down the celebratory breakfast, Prompto waddled his way into the General Store through the back door. He flipped the lights on and unlocked the door at the front. Then he took out his puzzle book, propped his feet up on the foot massager, and settled in for a long day of waiting. 

“What’s a four-letter word for cattle?” Prompto asked, looking down at his rounded belly. He felt a jab to his kidney. “No, there’s too many letters.” Another jab. “Could be cows I suppose!” He pencilled it in and moved on to the next clue.

In the six months he’d been here, he’d become basically fluent in Lucian. It was weird how, in the beginning, he’d picked up the basics really quickly. Almost like he already knew them, and they were jut waiting. More than the basics took ages longer, even when he couldn’t talk anything else with the few people around him. 

But now he was good enough to do the basic crosswords in the puzzle books he sorted through. 

The morning went quickly. Nobody really came out this way on weekdays unless they had to, though there were a few tourists on their way to Galdin Quay on Fridays and Weekends, and coming back through on Mondays. 

Most of the traffic was Hunters, or delivery people heading in to trade at the Gates of Lucis. And most of them just left thirty gil in the metal box on the fuel pumps for him to collect during his increasingly rare walks. They waved at him through the window, but rarely stopped in to say hi. 

At ten, baby started getting restless. He rubbed the little foot pressing against his skin, showing through his shirt. “Hungry, kid?” He asked. “Hopefully Takka has made his jambalaya today!” Even if his cravings had mostly tapered off, he was forever wanting the spicy jambalaya. On bad days it gave him heartburn. On the good it calmed the restless miracle down. 

He heaved to his feet, flipped the sign on the door to ‘be back soon!’ and waddled over to Takka’s rest-stop. Shiva’s blessing, Takka _had_ made the jambalaya today! He ate a big bowl, and took another to carry back to his shop. 

As he let himself back in, there was someone flipping through a fishing magazine impatiently. “Finally!” The man was tall and broad, with hair shorn short at the sides.

“Sorry, bit slow going these days,” he said, making sure his voice was bright and bubbly. 

The man turned blue eyes to give him an unimpressed look but – like most impatient customers – eased slightly when he saw Prompto in all his round, pregnant glory, waddling his way towards the counter. He had blue eyes, and they narrowed at him slightly. “Anoctinum...?” 

“Bless you,” he said idly, then sunk into his usual chair. “Just paying for gas or need to stock up?” He gestured to the neatly arranged display of potions on the counter beside him. 

“Just gas. A full tank.” The guy was still eyeing him, as if trying to work him out. 

”Thirty gil,” he replied. He kept a very pleasant smile on his face. “Yes, I’m a genetically modified clone from the Empire built to have babies. No, I’m not taking a job from hard-working Lucii. Yes, I am a refugee and I have right to work here.” He gave the judgemental dick a hardened smile. “And as of this morning I’m officially a citizen of Lucis. Any questions?” 

The guy, probably an Insomnian, just stared at him a moment. “What did you say your name was...?” 

“Didn’t. But It’s Argentum. Prompto, Argentum.” 

“Nyx Ulric.” Was that name supposed to be significant to him? Was he supposed to be a big deal in the city or...? An awkward wait passed between them. “How much did you say it was again?” 

“Thirty gil.” 

“You take Crowns?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to make change.” 

Three gold coins stamped with a crown were slid across the counter. He gave a sigh and heaved himself out of his seat enough to grab the coins and stick them in a box under the counter. “Come back if you need anything. Check with the chef if you need directions.” 

“...thanks.” The guy stared at him a little longer, then his eyes wandered down to his belly. “Can I ask...?” 

He couldn’t help a content smile. “Seven months. Do you want to feel?” 

The guy chose not to, but he kept giving Prompto suspicious looks before he disappeared beyond the window. He sighed. The last thing he wanted was another Hunter-Investigator to come by checking around if he was a spy, or had the right to work in Lucis. That was always a drag. At least he could wave around his citizenship certificate and get them to back off now. 

He rubbed his belly. “Maybe we should frame it on the wall, huh? That way we can just point to it when people are being xenophobic.” 

He’d settled in to another puzzle when the door jangled open. He glanced up and felt an involuntary gasp escaping his lips. _Baby_!

A beautiful woman – a _Handmaid_ , dressed in red, but missing her wings – entered into the shop, carrying an infant in her arms. A few locks of curly blond hair had escaped the bonnet, bouncing on her forehead. “You must be Paw-Paw’s new shop keep!” Her accent was charming, and extremely reminiscent of Cid’s. "Anoctinum, was it?" 

He almost answered yes. It was on the tip of his tongue. But he shook his head. "Prompto." She did look very familiar, for some reason. He looked at her carefully, before it clicked. “Oh! You’re Cindy!” He beamed at her. “Cid’s been excited about you coming all week!” He got to his feet and waddled around the counter to greet her. “Who’s this precious girl?” 

Because she was most likely a girl. She was dressed in a pretty pink dress with a cloth nappy poking out underneath. She was small, only about a foot long, but happy and plump. She was looking around everything with a sort of fascinated curiosity. 

“Aurelia,” Cindy said, smiling slightly. “She’s six months now.” 

“Aww.” He moved close and hovered close. 

The baby shied away a little. “Sorry. Ellie’s a little shy lately. Aunt Monica says that’s normal at her stage of development.” 

“Oh. That’s okay.” He was lying. He wanted nothing more in the world to hold the precious thing, and he almost wanted to cry thinking about it. He stood up straighter – as straight as he did stand these days – and rubbed a hand against his belly. He felt a little hand – or probably a foot, from that angle – pressing back against it. 

“You’re one of those Empties from Niflheim, right?” She asked, watching him carefully. 

“Uh-huh...” He pressed both hands against his belly protectively. She didn’t seem threatening, but you couldn’t be too careful. “Got my citizenship papers this morning, though. Cid’s been working me for six months now.” 

She nodded, with a soft smile. “Did you get assigned here?” She asked. 

He gave a careful smile in return. “Nah. Refugee. Escaped a post from Altissia.” He looked down at himself. “It was my third. Things are different there, from what Cid says. Three strikes and it’s out for this. Decommissioned, and retired. Didn’t seem right, so I... left. Hopped a boat and made my way here from Galdin.” 

She nodded with a smile, completely free of judgement. “Six months ago? You picked up Lucian fast.” 

He nodded. “I guess so. Must have a knack for it. They didn’t exactly teach us that at the facility.” He twitched and made a low, “oof!” He rubbed the wriggling baby inside him. “Not my kidneys, kiddo. Okay?” 

She smiled. “Ellie preferred to bully my bladder. How far are you—?”

“Seven months,” he replied. “I’d offer to let you feel, but someone wants both your hands.” He smiled fondly at Aurelia. He hoped his was just as attached to him. It was just going to be them against the world, after all. 

She laughed. But it drifted off and she looked around, before leaning close and whispering: “Seven months? That means ... your last assignment?” 

“No, it’s...” He drifted off, frowning. “No, yeah. Must be.” He held his belly possessively. “But those monsters can’t have her. She’s mine.” 

Her gaze was soft. “Don’t worry. I’m not ratting you out to any Altissians.” 

He smiled gratefully, and headed back to the seat behind the counter. “Did you need to buy something? Or just popping in to say hi...?” 

She ended up buying a jar of baby food and called goodbye, making Aurelia wave one pudgy hand at him as they walked out the door. He was crying again, when he noticed. Huh. That was odd. 

He wiped at his face and picked up his puzzle book. “Four letter word for spun sheep’s hair. Wool?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in one day? That's scarily productive even for me.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Four

“You’re coming along perfectly,” the doctor said, shifting his stethoscope a little. “And there it is. Healthy and strong.” He held up his watch to count. After a minute, he hummed and took the stethoscope out of his ears. “One forty-five, that’s good.” He gave the earplugs a quick wipe-down with a sterile cloth. “Want to hear?” 

Prompto grinned. “Always!” He carefully fitted the stethoscope into his ears and listened. The almost hummingbird flutter of a heartbeat that always made him break into a smile and tear up. He listened as long as he could, until the doctor had packed up his things and was stood by waiting. 

Reluctantly, he pulled the stethoscope out of his ears, wiped it with another corner of the cloth, and handed it back. He shimmied the dark, coeurl-print boxers up his legs and into place. “So everything looks good?” 

“As far as I can tell,” the doctor soothed. “I’ve had no luck borrowing the ultrasound machine from Lestallum. They’d had _four_ pregnancies this year.” 

Prompto tried not to twitch. He called it ‘four’ and made it sound like that was amazing – Lucis was dying. Slowly, generation by generation. The Empire was thriving, compared to this. But was that because of the Empties? Or because they had more Handmaids in general? 

The doctor slung the stethoscope over his neck and ripped off the used sections of the sanitary cloth and slid it back in a sealed bag. “Next time I come up we’ll discuss your plan for the birthday. From the research I’ve done, your only option is surgery.” 

“Makes sense. I don’t have anywhere big enough to push her out.” He stood up with a groan, massaging his lower back. 

“Her?” The doctor asked. “There’s no way to tell yet.” 

He shrugged. “Kimya knitted me pink booties. She’s pretty sure. Not that it matters. I’ll love them regardless.” 

The doctor hummed. “I’ll let myself out. You should start thinking about travel plans to Lestallum.” 

“Lestallum?” Prompto echoed, wrinkling his face up as he reached for the folded sweat pants on the table. 

“It’ll be safest. The closest and best equipped hospital is in The Crown City, sure. But unless you get a visa, they’re not going to let you in. The only other one is in Lestallum.” The doctor hummed. “Most people in Leide I suggest they get a birth pass to Altissia, but that’s not an option for you.” 

Something about the crown city called to him. “But it would be safest in Insomnia, right…?” 

The doctor sighed. “We’ll discuss your plans next time I come up. I’m needed in Keycatrich. Keep up your vegetables, try and include some leaner red meat than Bacon. Use your heat-pack when your back hurts. Call me immediately if the baby's movement significantly reduces.” 

“Thanks Doc.” 

The doc had mentioned the magic ‘b’ word, so now Prompto had to go to Takkas and order a crispy bacon sandwich. As he sat on the stool and waited for the grill, he watched a sleek, fancy vehicle slide into the parking space beside the gas tank. 

He gave a low whistle. “She’s a beauty,” he commented. 

Takka peeked out. “Crown City Make. Don’t build ‘em like that out here.” 

Prompto couldn’t help a low shiver down his back. They rarely had visitors from the Crown City. Other than Cid’s granddaughter Cindy, there’d only been one other visit. And it made him cold just to think about. 

He could remember vividly. He’d been in Hammerhead about a week, when a huge, armoured truck had shown up. Instinctively, he’d folded himself into the trunk of the car Cid was working on and closed the top. The voices were loud and demanding, and he couldn’t understand a thing. Cid had told him later, when his grasp of Lucian was better, what had happened. 

Four of the Kingsglaive – some sort of extra important members of the city’s army they called the Crownsguard – had swarmed into the small outpost and dragged all the people out. Cid had let him hide, just in case. The old mechanic seemed to have a soft spot for him, even after only a handful of days. 

( _You remind him of Cindy, his granddaughter_ , the old general store clerk had explained.) 

The Kingsglaive had demanded to see everyone’s identification, thoroughly checking them against a digital database. Anyone with a criminal record, or ties to the Crown City where led one-by-one into the truck and interrogated. 

A Handmaid was missing, he learned later. One of the ones from the Citadel – which was their fancy name for the king’s castle. Kidnapped, they suspected. ( _Murdered_ , one of the Glaives had thought.) There was a nationwide search for the Handmaid, and the Aunt that had been assigned. All the borders were closed, and anyone caught concealing information would face treason charges. 

(The endangerment of Handmaids was taken _very_ seriously in Lucis. It was one of the early realisations that made Prompto realise the Handmaids were treated much better here than in the Empire.) 

When it was clear nobody had seen any Handmaids in the area for over two weeks, or anyone resembling the Aunt’s description, the four Kingsglaive moved on. None of them had mentioned the escaped Empty they were hiding in their garage – not Cid, or the clerk, or poor nervous Takka. 

(“ _Why didn’t you tell them about me_?” Prompto had asked Cid, when he learned about it. 

“ _Lucis is in a sort of truce with the Empire right now. Do you wanna be the one who finds out if they’re practicing extradition_?”) 

The car was the same sleek sort of engineering the Kingsglaive’s truck had – but this was a passenger vehicle. A black sedan, two-doored, with gorgeous curves and silver filigree-like designs on the panel behind the door. 

A Prompto watched, a well-suited gentleman and a huge, muscly guy in a leather jacket (and no shirt? _Really_?) climbed out of the car and walked purposefully towards Cid’s garage. 

Prompto startled when something landed near his elbow. He saw Takka flinch too, and gave him an apologetic look. The box of sandwiches had been put next to him, and he opened it with greedy hands. He munched on one triangle as he headed back to the General Store. 

The clerk had left a month or two in, content Prompto could run the store while he visited family in Cleigne. He still part-owned it with Cid, technically – foreigners couldn’t own property – and he’d be coming back as soon as Prompto sent word that he was going to take maternity (paternity?) leave. 

He felt a prickle in his neck as he walked from the diner, and turned his head to find out _why_. There was a third person sitting in the car – the windows were tinted, but he could just make out their silhouette. Messy hair, a slim figure. Masculine, probably, judging by the width of the shoulders. 

He peered back and ducked his head in embarrassment, continuing to chomp down on the bacon sandwich as he stepped inside his store. Either the guy in the car was staring because he was eating like a slob, or he thought he was horrendously fat, or – pretty likely – he’d never seen a pregnant Empty before. He was usually used to stares, but this one was making him restless for some reason. 

Prompto put up his feet, turned on the heated cushion for his back, and gave his belly an affectionate rub. “You’re quiet today, kid.” 

He spotted the two Crown City guys walk back to the car. 

From inside the car, as the door opened he heard an angry shout: "Specs, let me out **right fucking now**!"

Prompto gasped as he felt a violent kick from his kid. "Alright, _not_ quiet." 

A voice answered, probably this _Specs_ guy: "I need you to calm down so I can explain." The door closed again, and Prompto went back to eating. They sat in the car for a long time, probably ten minutes or so. He couldn't help but peek in interest, but there was nothing but the silhouettes visible through the tinted glass. 

He'd just settled in with his second sandwich when there was movement again. The same guys from the front seats were climbing out again. Lunch, maybe??

No. Not lunch. They turned and stepped into the door of his shop instead. He suddenly felt queasy – not from the incredibly inaccurately named ‘morning’ sickness. From a far more lifelong feeling – anxiety. 

They crossed to the counter. “Mr Argentum.” 

“I’m a citizen!” he said quickly, his voice cracking with panic. He pointed at the certificate, framed on the wall next to the counter. 

“Yes, Mr Argentum. Nobody is attempting to challenge your citizenship.” The guy with the fancy suit and glasses had a funny accent. Familiar, somehow, though he’d never heard it. It was…fancy. That’s the only way he knew how to describe it. 

“Oh. Good.” He put down his sandwiches, appetite vanishing. 

“We simply have some questions, Mr Argentum.” 

The other guy, all bulky muscles, didn’t say anything. But he was staring intently at Prompto, as if he could see right into his very soul. He scared Prompto, more than a little. His eyes kept darting towards him. 

“Uh… okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original chapter 24 is getting super long so the interrogation from The Boys will be in the next chapter which probably won't be too long coming.


	31. Chapter Twenty-Five

The guy with the glasses took out a notebook and flipped it open to a blank page. He set down his phone on Prompto’s beat up coffee table, pressing a button to record their conversation. “Please state your name for the record.” 

“Prompto Argentum.” His voice sounded surprisingly steady. It was just his name. There was nothing wrong with his name. 

Glasses didn’t look at him, silently scribbling in his notebook. “Your birthdate please.” 

“October Twenty-Fifth, 735. Uh. Probably. That was what was on my birth certificate anyway.” He shifted restlessly. “Post-dated.” 

That earned him a flick of glance from the guy. “Could you explain the reasons behind that please, Mr Argentum?” 

He shifted restlessly. “Uh. I was dumped on the orphanage doorstep on the 28th. Three days was the midwife’s best estimate.” 

Glasses was carefully writing down that answer. When he raised his eyes, he was wearing a serious expression. “You are one of the Empire’s genetically modified Maid Type-casts, correct?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m an Empty.” 

“Our current understand of the process indicates that all Em-T units—” He said it precisely, like he was avoiding the word Empty, “—is that they undertake a process that speeds their growth so that they are available for assignment at the earliest possible juncture.” 

He shrugged. “Yeah. Usually. They dumped me at an orphanage in Ghorovas instead, collected me when I was a teenager for training. I think it was a control group or something?” 

“Hm.” Glasses started frowning, even as he noted down the answer. “What was the names of the couple you were placed with in Niflheim prior to your departure?” 

Prompto swallowed. It took a while to drag the answer out of his memory. “Uh… Brigadier Tummelt. And his wife. She only ever wanted me to call her Mrs Tummelt. Uh. In Altissia, not Niflheim.” 

“I see.” He dotted something with a firm push, and then looked very pointedly at Prompto. “Please describe to us the particulars around your departure from the Empire and arriving in Lucis.” 

He shifted anxiously. “I checked, you know. Before leaving. I signed the forms for a Refugee Entering the Country Without a Visa on the pier. It’s not against the law.” 

“Nobody is accusing you of breaking the law, Mr Argentum,” said Muscles. His voice was deep and gravelly. Practically growling at him. 

Glasses shot him a look that shut him up. “Do you have a copy of the forms?” He asked instead. 

He groaned and rubbed his bulging stomach. He gestured at a drawer in the desk against the far wall. “Can you…? Everything’s in the red envelope.” 

Muscles walked around, eyeing him carefully. He dug out the document envelope, scarlet red, and brought it over to Glasses. Then he walked back around to take his seat next to the guy again. The couch groaned in protest at his bulk. 

Glasses opened the envelope, and pulled out the forms. “Is this your handwriting?” He asked. 

“No,” he replied. “I’m not very good with written Lucian. Signature’s mine, though.” 

“May we take a photograph for evidence purposes?” 

_Evidence of what?_ He wanted to scream. “Yeah. I guess.” 

Glasses nodded at Muscles, who did that while he opened his notebook to continue what was definitely an interrogation. Even if they had avoided that word. “Please describe to us the particulars around your departure from the Empire and arriving in Lucis.” He repeated, in the exact same way he had just a moment ago. 

He swallowed. “I was on my third – my last – assignment as an Empty. In Altissia. It wasn’t working out, and I didn’t want to be decommissioned and become an Aunt. So, I ran. Smuggled on a boat to Ostium Point, in Western Leide.” 

“Not Galdin Quay?” Glasses asked, his tone completely unreadable. Prompto got the feeling he was suspicious though. 

“No, sir. Ostium.” 

“That’s way further North than Galdin Quay,” Muscles grunted. 

“Particularly close to the Crown City,” Glasses agreed with his partner. 

“Look, I’d never seen a map of Lucis before in my life. The boat I got on was the least crowded. It’s not like I was trying to smuggle in to your fancy city!” he snapped angrily. 

Glasses raised his eyebrows at Prompto’s tone. But he didn’t calm down. They were treating him like some sort of criminal when he’d done everything correctly! “I apologies if these questions are frustrating, Mr Argentum. Would you like to take a break?” 

“No, let’s get this interrogation over with.” He folded his arms at the top of his rounded belly. “They were turning into the Lucian Sound, so I jumped into the river. I went to the Ostium Pier and we signed the paperwork—” 

“We?” 

“The guy who found me on the river. He could speak Niflmal.” His foot bounced impatiently. “Then he gave me a lift to Hammerhead. He was on his way to Insomnia, and I got out before we hit the check-point.” 

The Very Serious look returned to Glasses’s face. “Do you remember the identity of this person who helped you?” 

He frowned, trying to piece through his fuzzy memories. “Ardyn,” he said quietly. “Ardyn Izunia.” Somehow, it was really important for him to remember the name of the guy who’d helped him. 

“The ‘Witness’ on the immigration forms,” Muscles reported, having taken a photo of the last one. 

“Hm.” Ignis added something to his notebook. “And you haven’t left Hammerhead since then?” 

“No, sir,” he replied. “Not even outside the lights.” He shudders. He can see the daemons some nights. Horrifying things that make him too scared to step outside his shop once the sun has gone down. 

Glasses wrote that down. “Everything seems to be in order for your citizenship, Mr Argentum. Now… I have a few more questions, of a more personal nature, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

He huffed and felt his fat cheeks drawing together in his pout. “ _Fine_.” 

Glasses studied him carefully. “How far along are you, Mr Argentum?” 

His heart thudded. “Why does that matter?” He demanded. Had they been contacted about the missing Scarlet from Altissia? He’d been days away from being shipped back to the Facility, why did it _matter_? 

“We like to be succinct with our records of births, Mr Argentum.” 

He shifted. He was thirty-three weeks. But if he told them that, they’d know he was pregnant before he left Altissia. “Uh…” Damn his stupid pregnant brain, and its sudden ability to forget even basic knowledge. What was thirty-three weeks take a month? “Uh…” 

Muscles leaned closer, over the coffee table, and his voice was surprisingly gentle as he explained: “we’re not going to tell anyone if it wasn’t conceived here, Prompto. Nobody is going to try and take your baby away from you.” 

He exhaled a panicked breath he didn’t even know he was holding, pressing his hands against the part of his belly where she was throwing elbows. “Thirty-three weeks,” he said quietly. Glasses pencilled that down, his face creasing into a frown. “You guys really need to sort out your Good Cop/Bad Cop routine.” 

“Nobody is the Bad Cop,” Glasses replied flatly. “I won’t be _copping_ these insults from anyone.” 

Prompto let out a startled laugh, reaching up to cover his mouth. Glasses watched him, something almost amused in his eyes. He lowered his hand and gave a slight smile. “I won’t be _copping_ a _pun_ ishment for that, will I?” 

Muscles just groaned and sat back back. 

Glasses peered at him and wrote something down. Then he grew serious. “What are your plans for the birth?” 

“It’ll have to be surgery,” Prompto said. “Doctor Sylvester wants me to go to Lestallum. He, uh, didn’t think an Altissian birth pass would be good. For me.” 

“Best not, regarding your circumstances,” Glasses agreed. He looked at him for a long moment. “Insomnia is much closer. Better equipped for obstetrics too,” he pointed out, his voice careful. 

“Yeah, but… It’s hard to get a Visa to pass the checkpoint,” he mumbled, rubbing his belly. He would do it, get the best chance for his baby. He wanted the best for her. “Doc doesn’t like my chances of getting through.” 

Glasses frowned. Just a little. “Have you considered what you will do after the birth?” He asked carefully. 

“Uh… probably keep working here?” He said uncertainly. “Freelance as an Empty?” 

“Have you considered signing on to the Insomniac Handmaid Program?” Glasses asked carefully, pushing up the frames on his nose. “It is the best for accessing the protections afforded to Handmaids by the laws.” 

He shrugged. “Never heard much about it. I don’t know. I have to get through _this_ birth yet. There might be complications.” 

Glasses nodded. Watching him, he carefully withdrew a pamphlet from his pocket and handed it over. “If you have any questions, contact the number on the backside.” 

He nodded, placing it on top of his puzzle book to look at after dark. “Okay. Was that all your questions?” 

“Yes, Mr Argentum.” Glasses closed the book. He rose to his feet. “We’ll see ourselves out. Stay off your feet.” 

Prompto shrugged and pushed himself up out of his armchair. “I gotta sit at the counter anyway.” He flinched when Muscles reached out, helping him. But, hesitantly, he leaned some of his not-inconsiderable weight on the guy. He had enough muscles to hold him anyway. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

They walked through the door into the shop, and Muscles helped Prompto into the seat behind the counter as Glasses stepped beyond. “If we have any more questions…?” 

Prompto scoffed. “You’re just gonna show up if I say no, right?” He asked, rolling his eyes. 

“Most likely, yes.” Glasses at least gave him an apologetic grin. 

The two of them bowed, thanked him, and headed toward the door. But it was Muscles who paused in the doorway. “Do you have a name yet?” He asked carefully. 

Prompto smiled and placed his hands on his occupied belly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Stella-Fulla. She’ll be born under Titan’s star.” 

Muscles peered at him. “Nice name,” he grunted, and then nodded. They two of them left the store. 


	32. Chapter Twenty-Five-and-a-Half

Noct could not believe they made him wait an entire week to go and investigate Nyx and Cindy’s report that there was an Imperial Scarlet – an Empty – in Hammerhead. As soon as they’d returned, and his advisor got the news to him, he’d put on his shoes and prepared to go. 

Ignis, ever the frustrating voice of reason, had slowed him down. Stopped him, actually. “Your highness, if you would listen to the rest of their report!” 

“He’s _there,_ Specs! He’s in Hammerhead! Gladio, get the car, we’ll leave now…” 

“The gate’s down and the wall is up, Noct. It’s past sundown.” Gladio had explained. “There’s no getting in or out of the city til Dawn, so you might as well wait and listen to what Iggy has to say.” 

Noct growled in frustration and threw himself on the bed. “Fine. Talk.” 

Specs pushed up his eponymous glasses and linked his fingers. “It may not be Anoctinum.” 

Noct scoffed. “Of course it is!” 

“Noctis. The first course of Empties alone produced exactly 10,000 units. They’re into their third course of production now. Not accounting for retired units, or the third production, that’s at least twenty-thousand Empties. All with the same DNA, most with the same position in life. There is simply too much probability that he is _not_ Anoctinum for us to ignore the likelihood.”

“Bullshit!” he snarled. “ **Another** Scarlet, an hour’s drive from the city, about as pregnant as _he_ is.” 

“We simply don’t know enough about the circumstances, highness,” Ignis cut in, his voice smooth and calm. “I wish it to be him, as much as the next person. But we cannot rush in without checking the facts.” 

“Then _check_ the goddamn facts,” Noct growled. “But do it while he’s **safe** back here with me!” 

The refined jaw clenched, and one hand pushed up his specs. “He didn’t recognise the name, Noct!” he snapped, his temper at its end. “Nor did he know Anyvna as anything other than Mister Sophair’s grand-daughter. His main concern was _not_ to conceal his identity, or enquire about the wellbeing of the city or any of its inhabitants. He was merely afraid that he would be deported, or reported to the Altissian authorities.” 

His stomach squirmed with sickness. Whatever Ignis might say about probability, and likelihood – he knew it was too much of a coincidence. It was _his_ Anoctinum out there, suffering alone with their baby. 

He got to his feet. “Do your research, Ignis. I’m going to get him at dawn.” 

“Highness!” Ignis argued, indignant – but Noct ignored him. He just walked out of the room and returned to his bed. 

Six months. Six months of twisting, sickening madness. Panicked almost every moment about where Anoctinum might be, whether he was safe, whether he had enough food or some place to sleep. Six months of being _useless_ stuck in the Citadel because they wouldn’t let him go _out there_ to search. 

That first week, when they’d sealed off the city... Had the wall down so nothing could get in and out. Crownsguard and Kingsglaive turning over the occupied sections of the city, uncovering every nook and cranny in search of the royal catamite. Announcements on every screen, offering a reward to anyone who might have information of Anoctinum’s last known whereabouts. 

They had traced him and that treasonous bitch of an imposter as far as the back exit of the Citadel, but no further. 

(“ _Have you checked the temples?_ ” Lunafreya asked every day, with hope dying in her eyes with every ‘yes, highness. No luck,’ she got in answer.) 

After a week, they had to concede that Anoctinum was no longer in the city, and the Kingsglaive had mobilised their search outside the city walls. 

(“ _They wasted a whole **week** searching the city! He could be in Niflheim by now!_ ”

“ _The borders are closed, Noct. We’re investigating any travel logs for the last week. We’re doing all we can with the manpower we have._ ”)

Red clothes had been found on riverbanks in Ostium. That had given him hope, but the Kingsglaive worries. He refused to believe it may be an indication that the Scarlet had drowned. He knew Anoctinum was out there, alive. He could feel it. 

(“ _Dad, let me go out and help..._ ”

“ _I feel your concern, Noct. But you must see that the risk is simply too great. We have already lost one member of the royal family, I will not endanger another._ ”)

Four months, the Kingsglaive scouring the nation. Interrogating, bribing, threatening, investigating, chasing baseless leads. Every screen and newspaper and radio in the city repeating the message: “If you have information, contact your local Tipster!” 

Four months, and the taskforce returned empty handed to the city. There was nothing more they could do, not without intelligence, or more leads. Someone had dared to mention _engaging a new Handmaid_ and Noct was thoroughly chastised for throwing them down the stairs. It wasn’t like they’d been injured! 

But he could _feel_ everybody else becoming complacent. Only he and Luna seemed to still worry about Anoctinum – though Ignis professed his concerns every time he was accused of not caring anymore. 

She stepped up her routine from daily visits to the citadel temple and weekly visits to the Glacian’s Temple in the north part of the city, to daily visits to the Glacian, and weekly pilgrimages to the Leviathan, begging the goddesses. Glacian to keep Anoctinum safe, and bring him home. The Leviathan to protect their unborn child. 

Noct threw himself into training, and reading – he learned _Niflmal_ , or tried. Video games gathered dust in unopened packets. Playing them didn’t feel right while Anoctinum wasn’t there to enjoy them with him. 

They still refused to let him out of the city. Let any Handmaids out. The check-points from the mainland became even stricter, more thorough in searches. Reports more detailed. 

And he was still stuck here. Being useless. Useless. Useless. 

(“ _His cravings should have stopped now, did you know that? In the third trimester..._ ”

” _I know, Noctis. I have to go. I need to visit the Leviathan’s temple today..._ ”)

And then six months had passed. The restrictions on the Handmaids were lifted, and Anyvna requested special permission to leave the city to visit her ‘Paw-Paw’ in Hammerhead, and introduce Aurelia to her family. 

And she’d returned with _news_. The first real lead they’d had in half a year! 

_And they were trying to put off going to get him!_

He clutched Anoctinum’s pillow to his chest, though it had long since stopped smelling like his lover. Even when Luna slipped in and they held each other through the night, the bed just felt _so empty_.

When he woke up, it was just getting towards Dawn. He pulled on his shoes and tried the door. It was locked. Scowling, he’d thrown open the window and summoned his weapon to warp. But they hadn’t responded. 

He was in lock-down. The King refused to let him endanger himself without appropriate investigation. Now _literally powerless_ , the seven days had been a cruel torture. 

Ignis had _tried_ to convince him to stay behind. “Mr Argentum is seven months with child. We can’t place any undue stress on him, it can cause complications with the pregnancy.” 

(Seven months. Anoctinum had been nearly a _month_ pregnant when he’d been lost, then? They hadn’t known. Not with that disgusting Doll Ring messing with his body.) 

There was a compromise. “You will stay in the car. For _your own_ safety, and the wellbeing of the M.T.” 

He’d agreed, sure. But he’d never even attempted to convince himself he wouldn’t be out of the car as soon as he saw his Anoctinum. He’d know it, right away. He trusted that in himself. 

And he’d tried. Ignis and Gladio had gone into the garage to question Cid about the M.T., get some background information. And then he’d seen a familiar yellow out of the corner of his eye. 

Walking – waddling out of the diner was _him_. He’d known immediately it was him. The hair was longer, still a gorgeous golden colour. He was plump, round and practically bursting with child. With _their_ baby. He had _freckles_ now, Noct wanted to map them with his lips – across the plump cheeks, along the uncomfortably arched shoulders. Wanted to press his ear against the rounded belly, murmur his desperate apologies to them both for letting him be alone for so long. 

Anoctinum was holding sandwiches, and hungrily stuffing his face with them. Noct couldn’t help but fondly recall the first time they’d had a meal together – the brunch after the failed Ceremony when he’d been so guilty and anxious he couldn’t even get it up. Anoctinum, shy in his new clothes, had stuffed himself full with as much hungry fervour as he was doing right night. 

Noct gripped the handle of the door and pulled it. No... He yanked again, watching the blond disappear into the darkened interior of the General store. “No!” He yanked again, more roughly. 

It was gods’ damned **locked**!

He fought out of his seatbelt (similarly unable to be unlatched) and yanked on the driver’s side door. It didn’t open either. Those absolute fucking bastards! 

He snarled at them, as soon as they approached the car and had the door open with the key. “Specs, let me out **right fucking now**

**“I need you to calm down so I can explain.” Noct fucking _hated_ it when Ignis said that. The advisor closed the car door, and Gladio did the same, sealing them in privacy. “Mr Sophair has no reason to doubt the story that Mr Argentum has presented.” **

****

“ _Anoctinum_!” Noct hissed back at him, stubborn. 

****

“ _Mr Argentum_ ,” Ignis repeated, firmer. “He has noticed no inconsistencies, or found reason to suspect that Mr Argentum is our missing M.T.” 

****

“That’s bullshit!” Noct argued, still struggling to get out of the seatbelt. “That’s _him_ , Specs! I **know** it!” 

****

“Your desperation is no prevalence over rational facts, highness!” Ignis snapped back. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, and pushed up his spectacles. “I’d like to interview him personally, with Gladiolus. Determine his personal story, search for any holes – and Gladio will be able to tell me if he’s lying.” 

****

Nobody was a better judge of character or body language than Gladio, after all. Noct clenched his teeth. “Fine. But _then_ you’re letting me out to talk to him!” 

****

“I am not making that promise.” Ignis adjusted his suit, and stepped out of the car once more. This time, Noct _heard_ the locking mechanism. 

****

Every minute they were in there was agonizing. He looked around for some kinda weapon to cut through the belt, then he could smash the windows. They were bulletproof from the outside, but structurally weak from inside, in case he got trapped inside. But Specs and Gladio were too fucking on top for that, there was nothing anywhere that he could use as a tool to get out. 

****

Eventually, they re-emerged. And they looked troubled. Ignis slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the engine on. 

****

“Hey, what are you doing?” Noct asked, panic gripping him. As soon as Gladio’s door was closed, Ignis accelerated and turned out of the gas station. 

****

“Hey!” Noct yelled frantically, kicking at the seats. “What the fuck, Specs?! You have to let me _see him_! You promised!” 

****

“I very distinctly did not promise,” the advisor replied, his voice grim. “I believe we’ve terrified Mr Argentum enough. We are going back to the Crown City.” 

****

“No!” he gasped, hurt. “Iggy, _please_ , you have to let me see him...” 

****

The two of them ignored him, instead addressing one another. “What are you thinking, Iggy?” Gladio asked, eyeing the driver out of the corner of his eyes. 

****

“Inconclusive,” the advisor answered, his voice flat. Unreadable. Revealing absolutely _nothing_. Bastard. “Your observations, dear?” 

****

“...well, he ain’t lying.” The scarred forehead of his shield furrowed, meaty arms crossing over his broad chest. “He was sincere about everything he told us, and he’s terrified of being sent back to Altissia, or having his baby taken away.” 

****

“...but?” Ignis prompted. He could hear the unspoken but that Noct couldn’t. 

****

“Stella-Fulla.” 

****

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Noct snapped from the back seat. 

****

“Yes...” Ignis agreed quietly. “I thought that was interesting too. A dialectal differentiation on Volla, I believe.” 

****

“One of Titan’s daughters. Patron of Bounty, I think...” 

****

“Mm.” 

****

“What the **fuck** are you two talking about? Tell me what’s going on right _fucking now_!” Noctis snarled from the front seat. 

****

Ignis sighed, and pushed his glasses up. “Very well. His name is Prompto Argentum, and just over six months go, he was working as a Scarlet in Altissia...”

****


	33. Chapter Twenty-Six

“Mr Argentum, Prompto,” a familiar voice called. “Application status: rejected.”

Tired, but completely unsurprised, Prompto closed his puzzlebook and started gathering up his belongings as the woman behind the dark partition continued to read out the failed applications. No approvals today. No under consideration. Fourteen days, fourteen rejected applications. This was the new routine. 

They’d brought a Hunter in, David Auburnbrie – one of the best of the best – mutilated by a beast. Not a daemon, a simple beast. Complaints about Ornery Varmints were increasing by the day – closer and closer to the outpost. Prompto had been scared. 

Dave had been the Hunter assigned with escorting him to Lestallum when he hit the eighth month, too. As an extra thing to worry about. He might have been fine. Maybe. But then Stella had stopped kicking. 

He’d called the doctor, frantic and terrified. “It’s probably nothing,” the doctor reassured him. “Lie on your side and concentrate. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

‘As soon as he can’ turned out to be two days. Stella could have _died_ and he wouldn’t have known for two whole days. Thank Shiva and the Tidemother that she was fine – she’d just lowered down into his pelvis, and gotten too big to kick. She could still wriggle around, but Prompto had been confusing the sensation with his anxiety. 

It had been the last straw. “Cid?” He asked, one night. “Can you call him back to take over the store again? I’m going to try and get into Insomnia.” 

Cid had called the clerk, then at dawn the next morning he’d used the big yellow pick-up truck to drive Prompto to the checkpoint. “I’ll drive you into the city. Come out and get me when you get your pass.” 

He’d been hopeful, Day One. He’d penned the form for a Birth Access Pass, got one of the kindly old ladies there to check his spelling. Then he’d passed it through the thin slot to be processed – not even tall enough to push his pinkie finger through. At four-thirty, before close of business, the voice behind the partition announced the list of applicants, and the status. Their mostly rejected statuses. 

“Don’t worry dearie,” the old woman said. “You’re allowed to fill out another application tomorrow.” 

So he came back again the next day. After three days, Cid couldn’t risk staying away from the Garage any longer. He dropped Prompto off in the morning, and was there to pick him up in the afternoon. 

Fourteen days. Fourteen rejected applications. Zero explanations why. The doctor ought to be back at Hammerhead when he arrived. Eight month check up. He was in the last leg. He was out of time. 

The doctor was being treated to dinner at Takka’s. He’d be staying overnight in the caravan, but before he settled in for the night, he came to examine Prompto and Stella. 

“Everything is as normal as I can tell. Still moving?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. She’s all wriggly now. My kidney are glad for the break, but now she’s sitting on my bladder.” 

The doctor nodded, and put his stethoscope away. “All very normal. Have you been having the occasional contractions?” 

“Yeah. Randomly.” He rubbed his belly as Stella turned around towards the sound of his voice. 

“Also normal. If they start becoming regular or longer, call me as soon as possible. Your chances are best if you get into surgery before they start.” He closed up his bag. “When do you go to Lestallum?” 

“Mr Auburnbrie was supposed to take me. I’ve been trying to get into Insomnia on a Birth Access Pass, but it’s not going well...” 

“Not surprising. I’ve only heard of people being let in because they’re trying to be Handmaids or Soldiers.” The doctor sighed. “You need to get to Lestallum before the next week. These last few weeks are the riskiest to both you, and the foetus. An obstetrician or a midwife needs to monitor every small change – and in your case, it would be prudent to be in close proximity to a surgeon.” 

Prompto rubbed his eyes. “You told me the best obstetricians and the best surgeons are in Insomnia.” 

The doctor sighed. “They are. The _next best_ are in Lestallum. It doesn’t have The Wall, but it has the Power Plant. It’s the second most secure location on Lucis.” 

“But the Crown City is the first.” 

Another sigh. “Yes.” He picked up his bag. “Talk to your Tipster. Get them to contact the Hunter HQ about an escort.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He pulled his boxers and pants back on, then settled back into the bed. 

“Stay rested. Keep your fluids up, even if it means more trips to the bathroom. Your baby needs the water too.” 

Once he was gone, Prompto reached for his puzzle book. Trying his best to get his mind off his situation. It was dark out now, there was no way he was getting out of bed to go see Takka now. Not with the daemons, chasing those... teeth-dog things out of their night dens. 

He put his thumb on the edge of the paper and quickly flickered through the puzzles, looking for a clean one. The book fell open on the first page of answers, bookmarked by a crinkled red pamphlet. He peered at the words. “ _The Insomniac Handmaid Program!_ ” It declared, in bold white font against the scarlet background. 

Underneath the words, there was a picture of three people from the neck down. A man, clad in a black, formal uniform, and a woman in a white dress, and cuddled between them, a woman in a scarlet dress – a wrapped white bundle in her arms. 

He felt his eyes prickle. He remembered reading this, and immediately shoving it away. _You’re an Empty_ , he told himself in the mirror, _you don’t get threesome-married to a loving couple and help raise your family. You pop out babies you’ll never see again. But you have Stella. You only need Stella. She’ll be your family_.

He turned it over, so he didn’t have too see the picture. On the back was a red-clad woman cradling a happy, fat baby. Underneath, in the same too-cheery white letters: “ _Come to Insomnia For Your Interview Today_!” and, underneath, in plainer black font: “Any questions? Call this number for our 24/7 Line to speak to one of our Aunts.” 

He looked at the number. He looked hard. 

_I’ve only heard of people being let in because they’re trying to be Handmaids or Soldiers_ , the doctor had said. Maybe... maybe that was his ticket in. It was just an interview right? And then he’d be in the city, and he knew how everyone reacted to pregnancy and babies. They wouldn’t kick him out once they saw his condition. 

He glanced at the mobile phone, sitting on the bedside table. Cid had insisted he get one, had to order it special from the city, so he could call the doctor. He looked down at the number, then back at the phone. 

He took a deep breath and reached for the phone. It rung, and rung, and rung. Then an automated voice answered. “Your call is important to us! Our Aunts are very hands-on, and may be away from the office. Please continue to hold, and we will answer your call as soon as we can.” 

He scoffed. “Right.” He wriggled down into the mattress, turning on his left side and propping a pillow between his thighs. “Of course you will.” 

He dozed on and off, listening to the ringing, jolting awake every time Stella moved, or the automated voice let him know his call was important. “Mm. Okay, Stella,” he murmured, jolting awake as she elbowed him in the kidney. “ _I want to ride my chocobo all day_ ~” he sung. It calmed her down, it was the only one that did. He didn’t know the rest of the song, but he sung “na” to the rest of the tune. 

There was a soft giggle on the end of the line. “That’s going to be stuck in my head all day now.” 

He jolted. “Oh! You picked up. Hi.” 

“Sorry. Only thing that gets her to settle down.” He shifted so he was propped up a little more. “This is the line for the Handmaid program, yeah?” 

“Yes,” she answered carefully. She sounded just a little bit confused. “My name is Aunt Monica. Is there a name I can call you?” 

“Prompto,” he said. He guessed her confusion. “Mr Prompto Argentum.” 

Another slight pause. “Are you calling about a family member, Mister Argentum?” She asked politely. 

He gave a soft little laugh. “No... but I get your confusion. I’m an Empty. I immigrated from the Empire.” 

“Oh! Sorry.” She sounded suitably embarrassed. “How can I help you today, Mr Argentum?” 

He rubbed the roundness low in his belly. “I think I want to become a Handmaid? I don’t really...know,” he said uncertainly. “Things weren’t good for Empties in the empire, but you guys sound like you treat your handmaids right.” 

“We like to think so,” Aunt Monica answered soothingly. “Why don’t you spell your name for me, dear? I’ll get together an application for your interview.” He did, carefully, eyes fluttering closed. After she finished typing, she made a surprised noise. “Current resident of Hammerhead?” 

He opened an eye to squint at the far wall. “Uh. Yeah. How did you...?” 

“You’ve already got a pre-approval from... Ignis Scientia. Hm.” 

He paused. “Glasses? Sticky-uppy hair?” 

She gave a little laugh. “That’s the one. I see you’ve met before.” She typed a little more. “You’re not far. Why don’t you come into the City for an interview?” 

He blinked. Twice. “Just like that?” 

“Yes. There’s no obligation, of course. Just an interview, and overnight accommodation will be provided.” She suggested. 

Fourteen days. Two weeks. Fourteen rejected applications and _one_ phone-call and he was being _invited_ into the city? How desperate for fertile wombs were they? 

“So, I just go to the checkpoint and say my name, or...?” 

“Not quite that simple!” she laughed. “Do you have a pen, Mr Argentum?” 

The next morning, he walked into the office at the checkpoint. He took up the Handmaid Access Pass application, filled it in, and carefully wrote down the ‘program application reference number’ in the additional notes section. 

Twenty minutes later, the voice behind the screen called his name. Instructed him to move any facial accessories, look at the red dot. A camera flashed, and a minute or so later, a freshly printed pass slid back through the slot he’d only ever seen applications go _in_ to. “Enjoy your visit to Insomnia, Mr Argentum.”


	34. Chapter Twenty-Seven

They’d set out from Hammerhead as soon as it was light enough to chase off the daemons. All of Prompto’s belongings packed in at his feet. Not that he had many, most of the furniture in the shop had belonged to Cid. 

Prompto had been anxious about the checkpoint, as they pulled up to the uniformed guards outside the gate. He was pretty sure his Handmaid pass didn’t account for a driver. But Cid had handed over his own pass, and the guard had laughed “That’s as old as they come!” before moving on to Prompto’s. The guard had looked at him, squinted at the card suspiciously, but then his eyes roved down to Prompto’s protruding stomach. He handed the cards back, called an “All clear!” and stood aside as the gate opened and they drove through. 

“You have an access pass to Insomnia?” Prompto asked. 

Cid wound down the window to hock and spit out. “Yeah.” 

“...why didn’t you smuggle me in weeks ago? He didn’t even want to inspect your truck.” 

“Reggie always gets pissed when I get arrested. Not worth the trouble.” 

Prompto didn’t know who this ‘Reggie’ guy was, so he just let it go. Cid didn’t like being questioned, and Prompto didn’t like being snapped at. Not asking was the best course of action. 

It was a long drive, even past the checkpoint, but Prompto wound down his window, leaned his head on the door frame so he could feel the wind, and enjoyed the view. The Lucian Sound was beautiful on one side, and the sea on the other. He’d seen them before, obviously, when he’d come on the boat. But he must’ve been too anxious to notice, because it felt like seeing them for the first time. 

The Wall was beautiful. All crystalline fragments in a dome, simmering above the concrete fortifications like a little hat. After they closed the gates for the night, the Wall lowered to stop any daemons coming in. To stop anything but _air_ coming in or out, really. He heard it didn’t rain in Insomnia. 

Then again, it didn’t rain in Hammerhead, so it wouldn’t be much of a change, would it? 

At the gates, the truck was let through, but then stopped at a balustrade just inside. Cid let down his window, and peered down at the grey-haired guard in the fancy outfit. “Clarus.” 

“Cid. Scientia came with a car. You can go in, but Reggie said we had to search your vehicle from top to bottom first.” 

Cid spat in distaste, but Prompto thought he was a little amused. “He’s lucky my grand and great-granddaughter are here or I’d go back to giving him the cold shoulder.” 

Clarus just laughed and walked around the bonnet of the car to open Prompto’s door and carefully helped the Empty down from the tall cab. “Cid will make sure your things get to the right place. Enjoy your trip, Mr Argentum.” 

He gave an awkward bow of his head, since there was no way he was risking actually bending forward. He’d probably topple face-first and end up hurting Stella. 

A couple of similarly outfitted guards swarmed the truck, while the older one – Clarus? – led him over to a familiar sleek, black car. Scientia _was_ Glasses, just like he’d figured out. He bowed politely to Prompto and held open the passenger side door. “Good morning, Mr Argentum.” 

“Hey, dude,” he replied. He slid into the passenger seat, and fixed the seatbelt around himself so it wasn’t cutting into his belly, risking Stella. “Thanks for the, uh, pre-approval thing?” 

“You’re welcome,” Scientia replied, closing his door once he was settled. He walked around to the other side of the car. He buckled in and started the engine. A few streets deep, he spoke: “I’m pleased you’ve decided to show an interest in our Handmaid Program.” 

Prompto looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then put a protective hand around his belly. “Not going to lie. Most of my reason for coming here is for the obstetrics care.” He rubbed, as Stella squirmed about. She did _not_ seem to like these long car rides. 

Scientia darted him a quick look, but didn’t spare more than a moment of his attention away from the empty road. “Of course Insomnia will offer you the medical care whether or not you decide to join the Handmaid Program...” 

“Buuut?” He prodded, recognising that tone. 

“If obstetrics are the only thing you were interested in, why not get a birth pass instead?” 

“Tried that. Fourteen days in a row. I’ve only got four weeks left, it was now or Lestallum.” 

Scientia glanced at him quickly again, then pulled one hand off the steering wheel to push up his glasses. “Your plans seemed relatively concrete about Lestallum, when last we spoke.” 

He gave a little shrug. This seat was hurting his back. “I got scared. The Hunter I had organised for my escort got mauled by a... Bloodhorn? Something. I don’t know. He was their toughest and he nearly died. It’s... it’s not safe out there for Stella. I want her to be safe.” 

“Understandable.” Scientia turned the car smoothly into a different road. “But you don’t wish to serve as a Handmaid?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve got questions about it,” he said. “Like, what happens to my kids if the family I’m with doesn’t want me any more? What if I don’t like them? And the whole... ‘serving’ thing.” He sighed. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to give myself away to just anyone.” 

Ignis paused at a set of traffic lights to let a pair of scarlet-clad Handmaids cross the road. “And you don’t want to... help couples?” 

“I do!” he said quickly. “That’s why I’m thinking Freelance work. So it’s on my terms. There’s nothing I want more out of life than to help people have children, to make life where they can’t. There’s like... nothing better. But I don’t know if I want to... go in with all that three-way marriage stuff you Lucians do.” 

“I understand,” Scientia said quietly. “My partner and I are in similar circumstances regarding the need to have heirs. I’m the last of my line. But at the same time, our lives are complicated enough. I couldn’t imagine opening our lives to a third person, yet I would love to raise a child.” He drummed his fingers restlessly. 

Prompto was silent. Why did these streets feel so familiar? He could almost tell they were getting closer to the Citadel. Wait, that was stupid. He could see the big thing looming over the city, duh. He shook his head slightly. Pregnancy brain was weird. 

“Perhaps you may have heard...” Scientia posed. “Although you might not have been particularly proficient in Lucian at the time...” 

“What?” He asked, confused. 

“Last winter, the crown prince and princess lost their Scarlet,” he explained carefully. “An M.T., assigned to them from the Empire on their marriage in Altissia. He was pregnant, at the time, but that was discovered after the fact.” 

He startled slightly. An _Empty_? “Oh...” He shifted restlessly in his seat. “Did he... was there... _complications_?” 

“There was an Aunt,” Scientia explained carefully, “She’d been picked, specifically, to help him transition into life in Lucis. We believe she was working for the Niflheim government.” 

He swallowed anxiously. “Oh...” He couldn’t think of what to say to that. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“I only wish to say...” Scientia paused, struggling with the words he was going to say. “Should you come across His Highness, while you are visiting the Citadel... May I request that you show him some sympathy and patience? He and the princess have taken the loss of their Scarlet particularly hard. It is unlikely that you would see her highness, but if you see the prince...” He parked the car at the bottom of a huge staircase, covered in black carpet. “He may be overwhelmed. Please do your best to be understanding.” 

Prompto nodded. He felt like crying, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. Hormones, maybe? “Of course.” He’d look exactly the same as the Empty, probably. They all pretty much did – like thousands of identical twins. 

“You have my gratitude, Mr Argentum.” Ignis turned off the car, and climbed out to go open Prompto’s door. He offered his arm for the Empty to stand up and steady himself on his feet. “Would you like assistance up the stairs?” 

He smiled and shook his head. “Nah. It’s okay. Thanks... uh, Mr Scientia?” 

The man smiled slightly and nodded. He didn’t climb back into the car until Prompto had passed through the front doors. 

Aunt Monica happily walked him through the citadel. She fussed over his advanced state, asked repeatedly if he wanted a wheelchair, or a doctor, or anything to eat. He did accept the last, but gently refused the other two. 

The interview usually included a tour of the Handmaid’s Wing of the Citadel (“Though quite frequently Handmaids choose to live with their couples!”), but they both agreed to put it off until after he was more mobile. 

He had his questions answered, and he was given a copy of the contract he’d sign to peruse at his leisure. (“But, in your own time, dear. Either way, Insomnia is proud to offer you the best care available and a comfortable home for the duration of your stay.”) While Aunt Monica set about organising him somewhere to stay, she invited him to sit in the little lounge area outside her office.

Prompto sat on a surprisingly comfortable armchair, a heated cushion soothing away his back pain. Stella was wriggly, though not turning around – just sticking her elbow in some uncomfortable places. He was humming the chocobo song to her, too embarrassed to sing it out loud in the Citadel. Maybe he was swaying a little from side to side, gently rocking them both. Whatever, nobody was around to judge him. 

Until someone was. The door opened and someone stepped in, snapping impatiently at the phone. “I’m not _going_ the long way, Specs! It’s a shortcut and I—” The person fell completely silent. 

He peeked one eye open, cutting off his humming midway through a line, despite Stella’s squirm of protest. The guy staring at him was stunning. Beautiful, almost delicate features, and messy dark hair falling about his face. Just from the way the eyes watered upon seeing him gave him a good guess about who he was. 

The crown prince of Lucis (he assumed) wandered his gaze down to where Prompto’s hands were gently cradling his round belly and a wounded noise escaped his throat. 

Prompto just gave him a gentle, patient smile. “Would you like to come feel?” He asked. 

The prince just silently nodded, stumbling forward and almost _falling_ to his knees onto the ground in front of Prompto. His hand shook as he raised it and pressed it to the rounded top of the Empty’s belly. 

Prompto gave a soft gasp as Stella seemed to press towards the touch. He gave an almost nervous chuckle. “She likes you.” 

“She...?” The prince asked, his voice hoarse and weak. 

“I think so. I haven’t _actually_ had an ultrasound yet, but I’ve got a feeling. Not that I’d mind either way.” 

Hesitantly, watching Prompto carefully as he moved, the crown prince moved so his ear was carefully pressed to the clothed skin. “Hello there...” 

“Stella,” Prompto offered. “Stella-Fulla.” 

“Stella,” the prince murmured. Prompto could feel dampness soaking into his shirt right where his eyes were. “A precious star.” 

“Mm...” Prompto closed his eyes. There was... something warm draping over him. Like a comfort blanket, not that he’d ever had one. A feeling of safety, and contentment. He couldn’t name it. 

Plenty of people had rubbed his belly, obsessed with his pregnancy... They were so _rare_ in Lucis nowadays. But nobody had... Nobody had been so close like this. So intimate. 

He’d almost wished Scientia had thought to warn _him_ to be careful under this attention. His whole life, he’d never been treated kindly. _It’s not you,_ he told himself sternly, _it’s the baby he’s being kind to. To the memory of his lost Empty, his lost child._

“Prompto, right?” 

He fluttered his eyes open. “Hm?” 

“That’s your name, right? Prompto Argentum?” 

“...yeah. How’d you...?” 

“We investigated you. Thought you might be _him_.” The prince murmured, his voice heavy with grief. “He’s about as far along as you now, wherever he is.” 

Oh... He still thought the Empty was alive? Carefully, relatively sure he was breaking some kind of law, he shifted one hand to run through the prince’s hair. It was soft, smooth. It slid through his fingers like silk. Not that he’d ever touched silk. “I’m sorry, your highness.” 

The prince gave a pained whimper. His other hand reached up to take Prompto’s, threading their fingers together. If he was going to say something, he didn’t.

The door opened and Aunt Monica stepped out, carrying some papers. She paused, surprised. “Your highness...?” 

“Hi, Monica,” he mumbled. 

Prompto gave her a sort of ‘ _what could you do_?’ look, not attempting to withdraw himself from the prince’s hold. 

She cleared her throat. “I’ve managed to secure your accommodations. I can have a member of the Crownsguard to escort you to—” 

“I’ll take care of it,” the prince cut her off, “thank you, Aunt Monica.” 

“Highness, I must insist—” 

“I said I’ll take care of it,” the prince repeated, more firmly this time. 

She sighed, but crossed one fist over her chest and gave a bow. “Yes, highness. As you wish.”


	35. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Things get a little NSFW in the last bit of the chapter. Actual sexual content will be in another chapter, iiiiiif I decide to write it at all. If you'd rather not read it, stop just after Prompto's shoes come off.

Prompto was still kinda weirded out by the fact that the _literal Prince of Lucis_ was the one escorting him around. Like, he got why – the prince was missing his own Empty – but when Scientia had said to show patience he didn’t think this was what he expected to happen. 

The prince had sent off a flurry of texts, ignoring a number of phone calls – when Prompto dared to glance at the royal cellphone, there was a picture of Scientia dabbing until he rejected the call – from Scientia. All one-handed, while he kept his hand on Stella through Prompto’s stomach. They reached the courtyard Prompto had come in to, and paused. “I’m just trying to organise a car...” 

“Would you mind if we walked?” Prompto asked carefully. “Stella’s had enough car trips for one day.” 

The prince gave him a concerned look. “Are you sure you can walk...?” 

“Is it far?” He asked. If it was, he probably wouldn’t manage to walk. 

“To walk...? Uhh...” A frankly adorable look of embarrassed confusion crossed the prince’s face. 

“You have no idea, do you?” Prompto laughed. 

The prince watched him laugh. If Prompto didn’t know better, he’d say the expression was star struck. When his laugh petered off, the prince cleared his throat. “I’m not... typically allowed to walk around outside the citadel. It’s only a few minutes away by car...?” 

Prompto laughed. “I’ll be fine. Unless your royal feet can’t take it?” 

The prince huffed and moved his hand to lightly press against Prompto’s lower back and guided him towards the gates. The guards let them through with a single look from the prince, but Prompto could feel eyes on them long after they passed through. 

The feeling didn’t stop. Every time they came across new people, they stared. Prompto held his head high, refused to be ashamed. Refused to be the meek toy they expected of him. He _wasn’t_ a Handmaid – not yet, maybe never. Whispered flowed around them, but the prince didn’t seem fit to comment on it. 

Eventually, they came to an apartment building on a corner. The outside was covered by tiles, but it seemed pretty nondescript. A doorman peered at them, but used a pass to unlock the doors and let them in. The lobby was nice – little overlapping rectangular tiles, and a fall of water running down the wall into a shallow basin. There was a few scattered coins in there – not Gil, or Crowns. Little tokens with a few curling lined that gave a basic rendering of Leviathan. 

“The elevator is this way...” the Prince said. 

“Just a minute.” He dug into his back pocket and got out the little pouch of Crowns he’d exchanged for Gil in the shop before he’d left. He held one in between his first two fingers. Switching back to Niflmal – he never _had_ learned the formal, religious Lucian he heard on radios on Feast Days – he bowed his head and whispered a prayer. Only just louder than the gentle trickling of the water. “ Blessed stars of light and life, deliver us from darkness’ blight,” he invoked, “Mother Leviathan, birth-giver of our star. I give thanks and a humble offering for the blessings and mercy you have granted to this kingdom, its people, and I – your humble servant. I ask forgiveness for my slights and neglects. May your infinite wisdom and divinity last until the light of our star burns out, o holy one.” He tossed the coin up and watched it flip until it landed in the water with a gentle plop, hitting the marble with an almost inaudible ‘plink!’. “May it so be,” he finished. 

He almost jumped when he heard a deep voice at his side. “May it so be.” He turned to gape at the prince of Lucis, who had just spoken unhesitant, practiced – if rather funnily accented – Niflmal. He met Prompto’s eyes. They were very blue, pale even in the dark light. “What? Did I say it wrong?” 

“No...” He shook his head, placed a hand on Stella as she shifted about. “I’m just. Surprised. Didn’t think the prince would speak the language of his enemies.” 

The prince rubbed a hand against his neck. “I’m learning for Anoctinum.” His Empty, Prompto had to assume. 

The blond smiled, but was agitated when he felt his eyes watering a little. Wow, he was teary today, apparently. He hadn’t really cried this month since the first trimester. “That’s sweet of you.” He looked away before the prince could meet his gaze again, and headed towards the elevators pointed out earlier. 

It went fast, but they were silent as they watched the numbers go up. Until the prince cleared his throat, at least. “Are all Empties devout?” He asked, his voice hardly louder than a mumble. 

He shrugged. “Uh. I don’t think so? I mean, they teach prayers at the facility, but mostly so we can go through the motions the other Handmaids do, and to join the prayer circles at births.” He stepped out as the doors opened on a pretty, though impersonal, hallway. “I don’t think any of them were particularly sincere. But then, it’s hard to tell _anything_ with them.” 

The prince unlocked a door with an actual physical key and held it open for Prompto. “But you...?” 

He gave a little shrug. “The matron at the orphanage was devout,” he explained. “And I’ve always been fond of Shiva. She’s my patron, by the way. When you become a Scarlet, you kinda throw yourself under the Tidemother’s domain, so I try to be good to her too. Kinda hard living in the Leidan desert, but I did my best.” 

Noct watched him for a long moment, before bowing his head and stepping through, closing the door behind him. “Anoctinum was devout too.” 

“Hm,” he said, genuinely surprised. But the prince didn’t answer, stepping out of his shoes. Right. Takka had always been fussy about removing his shoes when Prompto visited his little apartment at the back of the diner too. “Uh... I really hate to ask...” 

“You don’t have to be worried about asking anything,” the prince promised, with real sincerity. 

“Yeah but... I mean, it’s probably some level of treason. But could you... unlace my boots? If I sit down to get them off, I’m not gonna stand up again for the rest of the day.” 

The prince didn’t reply. He just knelt in front of Prompto, hidden behind the swell of his belly, and he felt the tight laces of his boots began to loosen. Once they were loose enough, he leaned against the wall for extra help with balance. He shifted his weight onto one foot so he could step out of them, but the prince lifted his foot and carefully eased the shoe off. 

“ _Dude_ ,” he said emphatically. “I’ve been walking since I got to the Citadel. My feet stink.” 

“Don’t care,” the prince mumbled. He lowered his foot carefully and reached for the other one to take that shoe off too. But he paused before putting that one, and a shaky exhale left his lips. Prompto wished he could see his expression. “You’re...” 

“I’m...?” Prompto prodded, confused. 

“You’re _hard_.” It was a husky, intense whisper. 

He made a mortified noise and raised his hands to cover his face. “I’m sorry! Can’t help it! Even if you weren’t pretty, and gentle, and nice, I’ve been horny for _months_. And Stella’s moved down! She’s pushing against my bladder, which pushes against my prostate. And I can barely see my dick! Let alone...” He took a shaky breath and lowered his hands. Thunking his head against the wall, he stared up at the ceiling. “ Shiva’s breath. I just said dick in front of the prince. And prostate. And horny. Can we just forget this ever happened?” 

There was a slight pause. Then the prince’s hand began to smooth up his calf and rested on his inner knee. “We can,” he said carefully. “Or... or I could help.” His voice was deep, and husky. _Turned on_ , Prompto’s brain supplied helpfully. 

He bit his lip with a whimper. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes with such a ferocity than surprised him. “You’re... you’re married.” 

“She’s ace,” the prince answered, his thumb stroking a sensitive patch of skin next to his knee that Prompto didn’t even know he _had_. “And she told me to ‘ _get some, for both our sakes, Noctis_ ’ last week.” He was definitely quoting, because he used a sort of feminine, poshly accented voice. 

His hips surged forward in a need as old as the star itself. “I...” 

“I want you, Prompto. But if you just want to forget this, I’ll respect your wishes.” 

He moaned. Shiva, he _wanted_ this. Wanted _him_. “It’s a bad idea. You miss Anoctinum You’re projecting.” 

There was a slight pause, and then the prince leaned back enough he could look up at Prompto beyond the round belly. His pupils were wide with desire. “Do you really care?” 

“No.” The word escaped before he could really think. 

The prince’s neatly trimmed nails scraped against the sensitive skin of his knee, in _just_ the right place that had Prompto giving a keening whine. “Say stop and I’ll stop. We can go take cold showers and calm down. But if you want me... _say so_.” 

Prompto ran his hands through his long hair, making it stand up at all sorts of wild angles, like the tail end those cute little chocobos. “Ifrit’s _dick_. Just _fuck me_ , would you?” 

“Gladly.”


	36. Chapter Twenty-Eight-and-a-Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Flashbacks of sexual content.  
> Ignis's righteous fury.

Luna took one look at him over dinner and sighed in relief. “Good. You finally worked out your frustration.” She sliced into her food with a knife in a delicate, refined movement. “Did you work things out with Ignis long enough to sleep with him, or have you found someone else?” 

He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as he focused his eyes on the plate, picking slivers of onions out of the sauce. “It was Prompto.” 

Her knife made an unpleasant shriek of a noise as it scraped across the ceramic of her plate. When he looked up, her hands were clenched white-knuckled around the silver cutlery. “Prompto Argentum? The one you were convinced was Anoctinum?” 

He put down his cutlery. She picked up her glass of Altissian wine. “I still believe that,” he said. “I... I spent time with him. Spoke with him. Before I...” He shifted under the scrutiny of her unfathomable gaze. “He’s too similar, Luna. Specs can throw around all the statistics and the graphology analysis and word maps he wants. I know it’s him.” 

She gave him a cool look. “You don’t honestly believe that clears up my anger, do you?” She asked, her voice as cold and unforgiving as the winter wind. 

“...no,” he mumbled. 

She took a slow sip, swallowed, and then lowered her glass to the table. “Can I see him?” She asked, her voice wavering. 

He looked back up at her with a smile and nodded. “Yeah. I want you to...” He reached forward and took her hand. “I know you’ll see it too, when you meet with him. He talks differently – sometimes his accent gets a little twangy like Cindy’s, I mean, Anyvna’s. And he’s more confident now. Not as scared. But it’s still _him_.”

She sighed, threading their fingers together. She looked at the empty side of the square table, where Anoctinum had used to sit when the three of them ate brunches together. “I don’t know, Noctis...” She sighed. “Ignis seems certain that any similarities are a result of their DNA and training.” 

“Iggy can go choke on Gladio’s fat dick,” he seethed. 

“Noctis!” she scolded, a slight grimace crossing her expression. “Please.” 

“Sorry, I know. It’s just.” He gave a heavy, frustrated sigh. “He doesn’t _know_ Anoctinum, not like we do. He’s too worried about the objective facts and the numbers.” 

She raised their joined hands to her lips and gently kissed his knuckles. "Alright. How shall I meet him?” 

He smiled at her. So glad she was on his side again. “I can introduce you, if you want,” he said gently. “Or if you want it more naturally, you’ll probably meet him at the temples at some stage.” 

The two of them spent the rest of their dinner plotting, figuring out the smoothest way to meet with Prompto, to bring him back into their lives. Then she had to disappear with Iris, to take care of some political reports. 

Noct headed back to his room, getting out one of the Niflmal comic books and opening it up to study. Okay, he honestly spent of the time looking at the pictures, but it was a start. 

He got distracted, eyes glazing over as he remembered the afternoon. Even pregnant, Prompto was so beautiful. He was as greedy for Noct’s touches as he always had been, though more sensitive from hormones and neglect. Their usual position wouldn’t work, they were both too worried about the round presence between them for that. Instead, Noct had been treated to the glorious sight of Prompto _riding_ him. He wanted a portrait, to hang up behind a curtain, that only he could admire. 

Three times, with naps in between. Curled up behind his naked back, their hands linked over his round stomach. Prompto said he could never sleep for long. But just lying together, skin against skin, the smell of him in his nose, listening to his breathing, and the gentle humming of the chocobo song. Noct wanted it, every day for the rest of his life. Wanted it back. 

_That’s love_ , a very drunk Gladio had slurred at him one night, when he was seventeen. _When you start fantasizing about the afterglow, as well as the sex._

Noct’s very pleasant recollections were shattered when the door banged open and a very unwelcome figure stormed in. “Noctis Lucis Caelum!” 

“Ignis Stupeo Scientia,” he replied, putting down his comic reluctantly. “You’re not actually supposed to speak to me like that, you know.” 

“I’ll speak to you how I bloody well like! I am _this close_ to resigning and letting you suffer your own stupidity unassisted!” 

“You’d be bored in one day,” Noct replied, closing the comic on his lap. Okay. Specs was seriously mad. 

“Then I’ll get work as a bloody _nanny_ and have to deal with less childish, irresponsible antics than I currently do!” 

Two ‘bloody’s in one conversation. Okay, Iggy was beyond seriously mad and into irate. He avoided his eyes, ashamed of getting his advisor and closest friend so angry. “I’m not sorry.” 

“Of course you bloody well aren’t.” Ignis threw himself into the armchair across from him and gave him the angriest scowl he’d ever seen. “You cannot _abscond_ with the first Empty you come across simply because you are grieving!” 

“I’m not grieving!” Noct snapped back. “Because _he’s_ Anoctinum, and he’s not dead!” 

“You have no **proof** , Noct!” Ignis snapped. “I have urged you countless times for patience! Commodore Highwind is still gathering reconnaissance across enemy lines!” 

“We don’t even need to do all that, Ignis!” he argued. “He’s here now. It's so easy to prove – just get a DNA test of Stella.” 

“ _Really_ , Noctis? You think I did not conceive of that _very simple_ solution? I have _multiple_ best interests in mind, not merely your own selfish whims.” He grit his jaw angrily. "Any DNA test available prenatally is _only_ safe between the four and twenty week mark of the pregnancy,” he explained, with a cold voice. 

“Not... safe?” Noct asked, a sinking feeling dropping from his chest to the very pit of his stomach. “Oh...” 

“Anything after the child is born needs written consent from the carrying parent. I had hoped to have a serious discussion with Mr Argentum wherein I would kindly request his agreement for a DNA test using the umbilical cord after the birth.” 

“Look, I just slept with him, Specs. It’s no big deal.” 

“You—!” Ignis cut himself off. He held one hand to his face, fingertips lightly touching his forehead. He took several long, deep breaths. Slowly, he lowered his hand, his jaw a tight clench with a muscle twitching beneath the skin. “I _was_ referring to your escorting him across town under the public eye and granting him your high school apartment.” 

“Oh. Oops?” 

“Oops,” he echoed, emotionless. He slid off his glasses, took out a cloth and begun cleaning the already spotless lenses. “And here I thought I would only have to have a discussion with you about your own feelings and the public interest.” 

“I’m _fine_ , Specs.” 

“And perhaps you _would be_ ,” he answered, sliding the glasses back onto his face. Green eyes narrowed at him through the lenses. Noct didn’t think he’d _ever_ seen his advisor so disappointed before. “Have you considered the absolutely probable likelihood that Mr Argentum is _not_ Anoctinum?” 

“He _is_ ,” Noct argued stubbornly. 

“But have you _considered_?” Ignis snapped. “Beyond the legal precedent and the moral implications of sleeping with someone who is not your sworn Scarlet or your wife, without both of their consent! How do you think _you_ would feel, if you fit Mr Argentum into your life, only to discover that he is not Anoctinum? Or Luna? How do you think _he_ would feel, if you somehow managed to convince him that he was Anoctinum, only to tell him afterward that he was not?” 

Noct swallowed the knot in his throat. “I... didn’t think of that.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Ignis sighed heavily. “And I suppose that you and the princess have already made plans to introduce the two of them?” 

“...yeah...” 

“Delay them.” Ignis took out his phone and opened up the scheduling app. “I will make time to have a discussion with Mr Argentum and bring him up to speed with the current situation. You are not to see him before I do.” 

“You can’t tell me I’m not allowed to see him!” Noct shouted, fists clenching in a tight bunch. “I _know_ he is Anoctinum, and we’ve missed seven months of his company – seven _months_ of our baby’s development!” 

Ignis took another few deep, calming breaths. “ _Nanny_ , Noct. I am _quite_ serious.” He locked his phone. “I assure you I am searching out the _earliest possible_ juncture to schedule this discussion. I am not demanding that you wait for Commodore Highwind’s communiques, or the results of the DNA test. I am asking you to be patient for _days_ at best. For once in your bloody life would you do something for someone other than yourself!” 

Noct grit his teeth. Fought down the wave of anger at the insults. Clenched and unclenched his fists. Took deep breaths, just like his advisor. Then he rose his eyes and looked at Specs with a cool gaze. “Two days. That’s all I’m giving you.” 

Ignis rose to his feet silently, crossed one hand over his chest and gave an almost insultingly shallow bow. “As you bid, your highness.”


	37. Chapter Twenty-Nine

While Prompto was sure he hadn’t broken any actual laws by banging the _literal prince_ , he was still expecting the fancy-looking guards to break down the door of this apartment and haul him off to jail. 

Cid had brought his things, after visiting with Cindy. He stuck around to help him set up the old crib, but left before they closed the wall. Prompto, feeling strangely lonely, had puttered about the apartment trying to make things a little bit more homely. He tried to stay out of the bedroom. He didn’t need to be distracted by the sensual thoughts of their very satisfying tryst in the early afternoon. 

In the living room, finding a clear patch of wall, he began to tack up the photos he’d collected in his time since coming to Lucis. Using his first paycheque, he’d ordered and bought a funny camera that printed its photos instantly. While he was still mobile, he’d wandered about the surrounding area taking shots of the beautiful scenery. He’d never seen anything quite like it. 

The Leiden desert was bright, sometimes almost painfully colourful. The yellow-orange of the dust storms, the yellowy brown of the rocks. Little bursts of colour of passing cars and clothes of the travellers. And the endless, endless blue of the sky. 

Growing up in Ghorovas, there hadn’t been much variety. It was truly Shiva’s home – high up, between the dual-peaks of a mountain. It was always cold, usually snowing. The only trees were thick, evergreen trees of the forest. Beautiful, in its way, like the Glacian herself. But not very diverse. 

White snow everywhere, the darkness of the surrounding trees, deep green sprigs of leaves. The sky was rarely blue, and the gloom of the grey-covered sky cast a dim, muted light on everything. Browns, in various shades – bark, and fallen pine needles, nuts of every kind, and timber, and the clothes of the working class.

Frequent bursts of almost-red. The rich maroon of mulled wine, clutched in the hands of the idle genteel. The deep vermillion of the curtains in the lodges of those same people. The dark red, purply berries that grew despite the relentless winter climate. The almost pinky-purple of the hearts in the centre of otherwise white hellebores – Shiva’s Kisses, the refined called them. (The coarse working class called them Shiva’s Tits. Prompto figured that was a better name.) 

And then the small splashes bright, shocking scarlet. Small, round, poisonous berries on the holly. The spilled blood of gutted fish. The lips of gentleman’s wives. The rubies that dangled from Lady Ulldor’s ears and neck. And the largest swath of all: the two Empties that lived in the village while he was growing up. Eicaligodum and Eikincaiddum. 

Not at the same time, they might have even been the same person. Eicaligodum had been around for a whole year when he was twelve, and the whole village had watched with eager eyes as he’d grown round with the first baby to be born in their village in ten years. Eikincaiddum had only been around for three months, and then he had been sent away. 

In the collective fifteen months of their eye-catching presence in their little village, Prompto had never seen their faces. They were only shockingly red bodies, with white heads like snowdrops, bowed and covered by their headdress wings. If he’d seen them, maybe he would’ve known what he was. 

Prompto pinned up the last picture – his side-profile in the mirror at Hammerhead, round and bulging. He’d taken one every day, but only kept one every week. Tracking the progress and the growth, as soon as he knew there was the life inside him to track. 

He moved to sit on the L-shaped couch. Propping up his feet and leaning back against the warmed cushion, he pressed a hand to the still-sleeping Stella. 

He couldn’t imagine raising her there, where he’d grown up. The struggle to even eat enough to survive. Foraging for nuts and edible greens and scraping off bark, trading for filets of fish, toiling with the other working class villagers in the plastic-covered greenhouses where they grew anything that could survive the eternal winter. Roots and the hardiest of leafy greens. 

He’d never been able to imagine raising her in Hammerhead either. He just couldn’t _picture_ a baby basket tucked behind the counter of the general store. Teaching her the tottering, fumbling first steps on the concrete between Takka’s and the general store. The constant, anxious worrying, if she’d end up under the wheels of a car, or between the jaws of voreteeth. 

Neither could he imagine it in Altissia, with its endless crowds of Scarlets – the smells of food and seawater brine on every breath. He’d never known what Lestallum looked like, but that had been his plan. Work as an Empty there, make a friend who would watch Stella for the hour or so a month he needed to ‘work’. He had told himself once he saw it, he’d be able to picture it. 

But here in Insomnia? Even at first glimpse, he could imagine it. He closed his eyes now, relaxing into the warmth that soothed his ever-aching back. 

Dressed in the dark, muted greys-and-blacks of the people in the city (maybe he’d wear a red scarf or something to show that he was something like a Handmaid, but not quite). Walking to the shops that housed the markets to exchange little squares of ration tabs for food. Stella would be strapped to his chest in a sling at first, then a stroller when she was big enough, and eventually by his side, her little hand in his. He could imagine coming home – not to this apartment, he was pretty sure he’d only get to stay here until Stella was born and then it would be given to another prospective Handmaid. 

But to a nice apartment. Something modern, all clean lines and plain surfaces. An attached kitchen that looked over the living room through a large opening in the wall, so he could keep an eye on Stella. A glass-topped dining table with two seats, and a toddler’s high chair – always filled with fresh winter flowers. A sweet little nursery, painted like the sky – blue at the bottom and going through orange and purple to the deep darkness of night-time, with the constellations and starts painted in glittering dots across the ceiling. Stars for Stella. 

And he even dared to imagine someone there – though the faces never became clear, he could imagine a man with dark hair and comfortable, black clothes. Playing video games on the TV they’d somehow acquired, or fussing with paperwork half-slumped on the coffee table like he just wanted it done already. And a woman with pale hair, gentle and motherly. A businesswoman of some kind, in and out with important things to do but finally relaxing at the end of the day between them. 

He’d learn to cook. Take care of his husband and wife in their busy, political lives... 

He sat up a little and frowned at himself. No. Handmaids belonged to husbands and wives, not Empties. Empties were to be used and set aside, not loved. Not to build a home and a family with. 

He would have Stella, and he’d have his own home. The two of them, and maybe more. It wasn’t as easy to imagine, but he made himself. He could be happy with just that, it was far more than he would ever have been allowed to have if he stayed in Altissia. 

He could let himself imagine what he could have. He’d have to stop himself from imagining what he couldn’t. 

He’d fallen asleep there, but his eyes opened when he heard a door open. Confused, he squinted at the somehow-familiar figure that walked into the room. Glasses. Sticky-up hair. 

He pushed himself up into a proper sitting position. “Mr Scientia...?” He mumbled, confused. 

It had to be. But what was he doing in Prompto’s house? And was he carrying bags of food? 

“Lord Scientia, if you would please, Mr Argentum.” That was a very unfriendly tone. “I did not expect you to be awake this late. Is the bed unsuitable?” 

He rubbed his eyes, confused. “Dunno, just fell asleep. Is something wrong?” 

“I figured this apartment would not be supplied with food. It wouldn’t do to let you starve, just because his highness cannot control himself.” He started putting things away in the different cupboards and the fridge silently, his expression grim. 

Prompto turned onto his side. Somehow, it seemed there was more than that. Maybe nobody had kicked down his door, but he was definitely about to get in trouble for getting dicked by the prince. He rubbed over his stomach as Stella wriggled, elbow digging into his kidney as she tried to resettle herself comfortably from the change. 

“Have you eaten?” Lord Scientia asked. 

“Cid brought some dumplings when he came over in the afternoon. I ate them all though.” He was starting to get hungry again. And he should probably have more water. 

“I’ll prepare you something.” 

“You don’t need to do that...” He only got a cold look in response to that, and fell silent to let the guy cook. A bowl of chicken and egg and rice was placed in front of him, and then Scientia took a seat on the far end of the other curve of the couch. 

He sat up and took up the bowl, carefully blowing on it before putting it into his mouth. He chewed, made a delighted noise at the richness of the flavours despite the simplicity of the meal, and swallowed. “You can yell at me while I eat, if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Scientia pushed up the frame of his glasses. “Very well.” He seemed to take a moment to arrange his words, then begun sternly: “when I requested you show kindness to his highness regarding any distress he might show to your presence, I did _not_ mean by bedding him.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you meant it to go that far,” Prompto replied, rolling his eyes. He turned his attention back to his bowl, scooping up a bit of everything into one mouthful. “It’s not like we’re breaking the law.” 

“You, maybe. His highness... questionable. There’s certain legal precedents about cheating on ones wife and handmaid.” Lord Scientia’s voice was cool, disapproving. 

“I mean, he said the princess told him to ‘ _get some_ ’,” Prompto replied. 

“I doubt her highness phrased it like that.” He sighed and took off his glasses to clean. “I’m sure that you are no doubt aware that Noct strongly associates you with his former Empty.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto replied. “Kinda obvious I remind the prince of him.” 

“It’s more than that, Mr Argentum.” He sighed and slid the frames back onto his nose. “His highness believes that you _are_ Anoctinum.” 

Prompto nearly choked on a mouthful of rice, coughing a bit to bring it away from the back of his throat. Then he swallowed, slowly, and turned to _stare_ at Lord Scientia. “I’m sorry, _what_?” 

“The Crown Prince Noctis believes that you are the lost Empty. Your arrival coincides with his disappearance, and the progress of your pregnancy lines up. Other small things.” Scientia sighed. “He’s adamant, and I’m not entirely sure what it will take him to convince him that you’re not.” 

“Fuck.” Prompto put his bowl down and ran his hands through his hair. “...fuck.” Someone should have _told_ him. He would’ve been totally different with the prince if he’d known that was... “Okay. We can figure this out. Easy. What was Anoctinum’s designation?” 

Lord Scientia stared at him for a moment. “His what, pardon?” 

“Designation.” He slid up his sleeve. “Every Empty is tattooed with a barcode when they’re born. I had mine covered up when I got here, ‘cause I didn’t want anyone to be able to find out who I was and send me back. But you can still kinda see the bars. See?” 

He showed him the tattoo on his wrist, the black ink tracing barbed wires around a moon and the stars of Shiva’s constellation against the a black background. The ink of the barcode was just a shade darker, in a way that meant the night sky didn’t quite hide the barcode, but the barbed wire frame did successfully obscure the numbers. 

“I don’t... I’ll enquire if his highness knows.” Lord Scientia said. He took the notebook out of his pocket and started writing something down. “What’s your code?” He asked. 

Prompto gave a slight twitch. “That’s... _personal_.” He’d just _told_ the guy he’d covered it up for a reason. 

“Yes, of course. I apologise, I only meant... I do not know what the code is supposed to resemble.” 

“Oh. Right.” He grabbed his puzzle book and tore out one of the blank pages at the back. He sketched the barcode, and started writing the numbers. He instinctively started writing his own number down – N-1PO1—and then he stopped himself. Right. Careful there, Prompto. He added one more digit, so it was 1388 instead of Thirteen-Eighty-Seven. “I’m trusting you, okay? Don’t tell anybody else this code.” 

Scientia memorized the code, and then set the page on fire with a little burst of magic. “You have my word.” 

Prompto picked up his bowl again and sat back to eat it. “Why not like, a DNA test?” He asked, after chewing a few mouthfuls, while the other took notes. “I mean, Empties don’t contribute any DNA to the zygote, so it’ll be like... at least 60% the same DNA as the father’s? I don’t know the math. It’s two gametes from the father anyway.” 

“Is that how it works?” Scientia asked, with a look of purely scientific interest. “Interesting. I suppose that explains how the gene pool in the Empire continues to be diverse enough for repopulation...” 

“So, we get the doctor to do a DNA test tomorrow, and compare it to the prince’s. Problem solved.” 

Scientia shook his head clear of his thoughts. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You’re too far along for those kinds of tests to be safe – for you, and your child.” 

“Oh... Well... You can do them after she’s born, right?” He suggested instead. “That’s only a month. Not too long. The prince can be patient, right?” 

“Hah!” the other barked. “You have _met_ his highness, right?” 

Prompto laughed a little and set down his empty bowl. “I’ll talk to him though. I have an appointment with the obstetrician... well, every day at 1 for the rest of time, by the sounds of it. Maybe you can suggest he comes to one of them?” 

“Are you sure that’s the wisest decision?” Scientia asked, watching him carefully. 

He nodded firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I know exactly what to say to him.” 

The lord peered at him intently, before he gave a slight nod. “Don’t disappoint me again, Mr Argentum. The prince is my charge, and I take his wellbeing very seriously.” He stood and took Prompto’s empty bowl to the kitchen. “I’ll clean this up. There is more in the fridge, in case your appetite rises again before you get the opportunity to cook yourself. Why don’t you get some rest. In an actual bed.” 

“...yeah. Good idea. Thanks, Lord Scientia.”


	38. Chapter Thirty

Prompto had weird dreams. Walking through a winter garden with a beautiful, blond-haired woman. Fighting with the crown prince over the controller for a video game that Prompto had never seen before. Spending endless days wasting away in a scarlet-and-pearl draped bed. An elaborate pearl necklace being fished out of the sea at Altissia. A kiss on the cheek that froze his skin from an etherally beautiful woman with dark hair. Golden eyes in a cold woman’s face, until it shifted to the face of Ardyn Izunia. 

After he woke up, he laid as long as he could in place and stared at the wall. It wasn’t more than a few minutes, then he had to get up and use the bathroom. 

For breakfast, he had the leftovers Lord Scientia had left him. He plucked a book off the shelves and settled down to read to Stella until it was time for his appointment. It was a sort of history of the Lucian kings, but told like fairy tales. It seemed to settle her better than anything else he’d ever read. 

Just when he was thinking it was time to get up and find directions to the hospital, there was a knock on the door. He pushed himself off the couch and waddled over. 

He was met with a familiar smiling face, framed by the white wings of a handmaiden. “Cindy!” 

“Howdy,” she greeted. “Aunt Monica asked me to come take you to your appointment.” 

“Come in. I’ve just gotta get dressed and put my shoes on.” He held the door open and disappeared into the bedroom. 

It was harder than ever to squeeze into the soft, stretchy fabric of his clothes. He’d have to buy more, with the rest of the Crowns he had left from Hammerhead. For the last month, and then until he got back into the gym again. He’d accepted that gaining weight was healthy for both him and the baby during pregnancy, but he refused to go back to the days of his chubby childhood. The orphans had mainly subsided on cheap, unhealthy mass-produced frozen food supplied by the government, but he seemed to just pack the weight on. It was unfair. 

He returned to the door, where Cindy was waiting, and sat down so he could ease his feet into laceless walking shoes. He stood and balanced himself carefully, one hand on his round belly. “Let’s go, Cindy!” 

She held the door open for him, making sure he grabbed the access pass. “It’s Anyvna, around here,” she said carefully. 

“Huh?” He echoed, as he waddled towards the elevator. 

“My name. When I became Nyx and Crowe’s Handmaid, I took on the name Anyvna. After Nyx.” She explained, pressing the button for the ground floor. 

He lightly stroked a finger over the fabric of his shirt above his popped out belly button. “Isn’t that kinda... mean?” He asked. “You’re not allowed to keep your own name?” 

She tilted her head. “Wives change their name when they marry too, most of the time.” She waved her hand. “Not the noble families. Like the Amicitias, or the princess.” 

“Their _last_ names,” he stressed. “I just... I don’t really get why you’d want to do that. I get it in the Empire, nobody wants to go around calling the Empties by their numbers, and it identifies what family you belong to. But I don’t know why a Handmaid would want to do it.” 

She turned to look at him as they stopped at a set of traffic lights, waiting for the WALK sign to click over. Her face was framed by the wings of her headdress. “I’m not allowed to be Mrs Ullric,” she said. “No matter that I love Nyx as much as Crowe does. But I can be Anyvna, and in a way I can still share his name. It makes me a part of their family as much as taking Ullric would be. Imagine you loved someone, but you couldn’t be with them, because they already belonged to someone else in name by law. Wouldn’t you want to belong to them in some little way too?” 

The face of the crown prince probably shouldn’t have flashed into his mind. But it did. The previous day had been nice, but it wasn’t like he _loved_ the prince. Wasn’t like he fantasized about belonging by his side. Anyway, the prince already had Anoctinum, who was alive in his mind if not in reality. 

“Hm,” he said, turning away as the WALK flashed. “I guess I get that. Can I still call you Cindy, though?” 

She gave a soft little laugh. “Alright.” They walked along for a moment, before she lightly tugged his arm. “Can we walk by the elementary school? It’ll be recess there now.” 

“Sure.” He’d used to go the long way and walk by the elementary school in Altissia. Just to get a glimpse of young, vibrant life. 

They walked slowly as they passed the tall, metal fence. Children in pale, pastel colours raced about the enclosed yard, screaming with laughter and excitement in their games. It hit him, like dejavu and he paused, one hand clenched around the black metal railing. 

“I used to walk this way with Anoctinum,” Cindy said, her voice safe. “He was my partner. We went to the shops and for walks together, and he was my side during Aurelia’s birth. I was very fond of him.” 

He gave a low cry as a pain ripped through him, gripping one hand tightly over his belly as he curled up against it. 

“Prompto! Are you alright?” Cindy’s voice sounded oddly distant, and he slowly came back into awareness. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, as the sharp, high-pitched noise in his ear tapered off. “False contraction. A big one.” He rubbed his belly, until he felt Stella wriggle comfortably. “We should hurry. I don’t want to miss my appointment.” 

“It’ll be fine. You’re the only one with a baby in Insomnia at the moment,” she commented. “The doctor won’t be busy. We’ll take it slow. Don’t wanna risk Miss Stella, right?” 

He nodded, rubbing his belly again and beginning a careful walk. It must have been a false contraction, right? It had come and gone so quickly. But it hadn’t felt like it had come from his abdomen muscles. It felt like it had come from everywhere all at once. 

It just must have been a bad one. Nothing to worry about. Stella was still fine. 

They reached the hospital not long after, and he didn’t argue with Cindy when she rushed to get a nurse and a wheelchair to take him up to the maternity ward. He was glad to get off his feet. 

When they came to the ward, he stiffened in surprise when he saw the prince sitting impatiently in one of the chairs. And there beside him was an almost unbelievably beautiful woman. She was petite, with silvery-blond hair braided like a coronet around her face. 

The nurse and Cindy bowed to them both. “Prince Noctis, Princess Lunafreya.” 

Prompto felt an almost strangled noise escape his throat, and bowed his head as much as he could. Not wanting to risk bending at the waist and putting pressure on his belly. “Your highnesses.” 

“You must be Prompto,” the princess said. She came over and laid her hand on his head. “Shiva’s blessings upon your light and life,” she murmured reverently. 

“Uh. Yeah. That’s me.” 

The prince really was twisted up in this, wasn’t he? And he’d brought the princess in on it. He _really_ needed to talk to them, both of them now. 

But there wasn’t time. The nurse pushed him into a private examination room, shutting the door on them all before they could step in after him. She helped him change into a long hospital gown, took his weight and temperature, and other measurements. Asked him questions about bowel movements and meals and water intake. Then she walked him back out and towards what almost looked like a small operating theatre. 

There was a gurney in the middle, with an ultrasound machine beside it. There were wide glass windows all over the round walls around it, the curtains tied back. Doctors, interns, and well wishers holding prayer offering were standing beyond the glass, observing. 

He lay down, the nurse gave him a towel to cover his privates, and then she untied his gown to expose the round belly. “The doctor will be in shortly. May I get you anything? Juice or something?” 

“Are...are they all going to watch?” He whispered, gesturing with his head to the windows. 

She gave him a tight smile. “You may request your privacy, of course Mr Argentum, and the public will be cleared out. But cases are so rare, all training doctors attend these sessions as part of their education.” 

“Oh... okay then.” He shrugged. “I guess they can all stay?” If he wasn’t allowed full privacy he didn’t care about it being all over the place. 

“Should I show your companions in?” The nurse asked. 

He thought about it. Thought about asking for only Cindy, or for no one at all. But instead he nodded. “Yeah, let them all in.” 

The three of them sat on stools beside the bed, and after a moment the obstetrician came in, pulling on a pair of fresh gloves. “Good afternoon, Mr Argentum. It’s a pleasure to see you.” 

They went over questions – how far along was he? What were his symptoms? Was this his first pregnancy? Blah blah blah. 

And then at last, he was being attacked with freezing cold gel and the round end of the ultrasound machine was being guided against his belly. “A strong heartbeat,” the doctor reported with a smile. 

He could hear it, and it was making him cry already. The steady, almost watery patter of the baby inside him. He felt a hand slip into his and he squeezed it gratefully. 

“And... there they are.” The doctor turned the screen to show them, in yellow and brown and orange tones. 

There was a gasp of wonder beside him, he didn’t know whom. He was too busy breaking into a wide smile. That was Stella. Her closed eyes, her little noise, her lips puckered together in a duckface. Her fat little cheeks and pointy chin, the curl of one ear and a sparse patch of hair on her head. 

“Stella~” he cooed, his voice filled with wonder. “I see you, my gorgeous girl.” 

The little image shifted as he felt her roll inside him. He cried again, little happy hitches of breath that were half laughs, half sobs. The doctor moved the wand around, taking a look at the rest of her body. She was tucked up, pulling her umbilical cord in so they couldn’t confirm she was a little girl, but Prompto trusted it anyway. He didn’t care. She was so perfect. 

“She’s doing great,” the doctor said. “We can book her birthday whenever you like,” he replied, letting it come back up to her face so Prompto could watch her lips open and close, nose wrinkling. 

“Whenever?” He asked, confused. 

“According to my Tennebraen consultant, it’s not advisable for Maid Type-casts to carry to full term. But she’s a good size, nice amount of fat. We’ll put her in an incubator for warmth when you’re not holding her, just to make sure. But it’s up to you, of course.” 

“Not yet,” he said, clenching the hand in his. “We’ll wait as long as possible, make sure she’s as safe as possible.” 

The doctor nodded. “Alright. But if you start going in to pre-labour, you’ll need to come to the hospital straight away. Your risk of survival is drastically reduced if you go into labour.” 

“Survival?” The prince’s voice choked. The hand in his spasmed, and Prompto realised it was the prince’s. “He could _die_?” 

“Yes, your highness. All pregnancies carry risk,” the doctor replied. “MTs more than others. But Mr Argentum, you have my full focus and we’ll ensure you and your baby are taken care of to the best of our ability.” 

“I’m not worried,” he said gently. 

“I’m going to recommend full bed rest,” the doctor replied, beginning to pack up the ultrasound machine. “Limit your exertions as much as possible. Is there someone who can bring you to and from your appointments? I’d like to see you every day.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said. “Thanks, doc.” 

The doctor printed out some images of the ultrasound for him, and holding them carefully in hand, he let the nurse wheel him back to the examination room so he could change back into his clothes. 

“Cindy,” he said gently. “His Highness is going to escort me home, okay?” He asked carefully. 

“I was gonna say,” she said. “Did you bring your car, highness?” 

“I borrowed dad’s,” Noct answered. “Do you need a lift back to the Citadel?” 

“Naw. I gotta go to the market and pick up rations, anyway.” She kissed Prompto’s cheek and rubbed his belly. “Get your rest, Prompto. I’ll visit you again soon.” 

She stopped the wheelchair in front of a sleek, elegant car with the top down that was definitely parked in a No Parking zone. Then she bowed to the prince and princess and drifted off towards the road. 

Prompto gently rebuffed the prince’s attempts to help him into the car, settling in himself. Once the top was up and they were on the way, he spoke. “So. Lord Scientia told me.” 

The car jerked as the prince accidentally pressed too hard on the accelerator. Prompto frowned, glad he’d put the seatbelt over his belly so it didn’t dig into Stella as he jerked forward. “Sorry! Specs told you what?” 

“That you think I’m Anoctinum.” 

He could see the prince’s knuckles, going white as they clenched around the steering wheel. “He shouldn’t have.” 

“I’m glad he did.” He glanced at the princess’s expression in the rearview window. Her expression was composed, but there was something a little sad in her eyes. “You have to know I’m not, right?” He said gently, but loud enough to be heard. “Deep down, you have to be able to tell it’s not me. I’m not him.” 

“I don’t...” The prince trailed off, not finishing his sentence. 

“I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt, your highness,” he said gently. “And yours neither, princess. It would be easier for me, don’t you think? If I just pretended I was. I’d be taken care of, and Stella would be raised a _princess_. So you gotta know, me telling you I’m not is serious.” 

“Prompto...” she said gently. 

“I don’t know what happened to him, and I hope you can find him safe soon. But I can’t let you believe that I’m not him. So you won’t stop looking, so you won’t be cheating on him thinking that it’s me. You get that right?” 

The prince took a deep, shuddering breath. “I get it,” he replied. “I understand what you mean.” 

“I’m grateful,” he added quietly, “and flattered. About you taking care of me, and showing an interest in Stella. But it’s not fair on any of us in the end. And I’m sorry he’s dragged you into this, princess.” 

The car came to a stop outside of his apartment. The prince shut the engine off, and the three of them just sat there silently. 

After a long moment, he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I think it’s better for everyone if we don’t see each other again,” he said, his hand on the door handle. “Thank you for the life.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Prompto,” the princess said, watching him with a soft expression. “We’ll see you again soon.” 

He gave them both a smile and stepped out of the car, not letting it drop until he was safe inside his apartment. “Alone at last, hey Stella?” He definitely didn’t cry. He went to the kitchen to make himself dinner and then went to bed for the night. Bed rest. How exciting.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Point-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis? Ignis.

Ignis was tired. Simultaneously physically exhausted and mentally taxed. To His Highness, it appeared as if he was doing nothing in the effort to find the missing Anoctinum. But His Highness had the luxury of being able to make the search his only mental priority. 

Ignis’s duties as advisor and valet to the, frankly incompetent, crown prince had already left him with precious little spare time for personal pursuits as it was. He woke before dawn, confirmed His Highness’s schedule, and the much more cluttered one that was his own. Then he’d go to his office, take care of any paperwork that had accumulated overnight until it was time to go wake up the lazy prince. Dragging him, often physically, out of the bed, choosing and laying out his clothes for the day. Preparing breakfast, since cooking for the prince was the only way he could guarantee the prince might consume an appropriate amount of vegetables by pure deception. He’d instil the Prince with his daily schedule – which was always enviously spaced with free time – and then ferry him off to the first one: a training session with dear Gladiolus. Until close of business, Ignis’s own schedule would be filled to bursting meetings he sat in on Noct’s behalf; unless he was expected to chauffer his highness about the city. Then he would take both his and the prince’s ration books to the late market and shop, sometimes parting with the rarely-traded Crowns for something outside the staples. Then he’d make dinner for the prince, occasionally her highness as well, and depart for his own physical training sessions and then shut himself up in his office until he had completed the day’s paper work. Then, whenever that was complete, he could finally return to the rooms he shared with his dear Gladiolus. Oftentimes he was forced to take work home with him, sewing on buttons, tracking down new video games that might catch his interest, compiling reports of political changes that the prince ought to be aware of, trying to supply helpful books into his purely entertaining comic selection Oftentimes he wouldn’t even fall into bed with Gladio until after midnight – where he’d tend to his lover’s needs, give himself the minor stress relief he craved, and eventually sleep. 

In truth, Noct’s acquisition of a Handmaid was _supposed_ to have eased his load. Anoctina would have taken on the tasks of the valet, leaving Ignis to deal with the scheduling and political tasks. Granting him a regular 9-5 schedule that would allow him to think about his _own_ life for once. Spending time with Gladiolus, discovering his own hobbies, the tantalizing but ephemeral possibility of engaging the temporary services of a trusted family’s Handmaid and having a child of their own. 

Then the empire had given them an Empty. One they couldn’t politely decline for a Lucian. Ignis’s salvation had to be rescheduled, and then put off indefinitely. Prince Noctis had all but refused Anoctinum. And just as things had appeared to be going well enough that Ignis was considering speaking to him about his other expected duties, everything had gone to shit. 

Now instead of free time, instead of making love with Gladio, he got to pour over proof one way or another that Prompto Argentum was the missing Handmaid. 

He was pacing back and forth in the living room, waiting for the printer to spit out Commodore Highwind’s latest communique, trying to puzzle out a way to deal with the prince’s latest publicity mess. Warm, familiar, and deliciously muscles arms wrapped around his torso. Pulling him to a stop and drawing him back against a well-loved chest. “Honey Maker, I’m busy.” 

“Iggy,” Gladio replied, nuzzling into his neck. “You’ve just gotten home. You need to eat.” 

He hummed, conceding to the logic. “Alright. I’ll prepare something.” 

“I got dinner from the kitchens. Sit down.” 

Ignis allowed himself to be led over to the lounge, he didn’t even bother to make the usual complaint that they had a dining table for a reason. He didn’t have time for the ensuing argument, however fond and familiar. He just eased his aching feet up onto his footrest and allowed Gladio to place the bowl in his lap. He ate with his neatest manners, while Gladio sat next to him. One arm slung over his shoulder to curl close, the Shield only ate with one hand. 

They talked about the latest book Gladio was reading, popular radio novellas, Talcott’s lessons, how big Aurelia was getting. Anything that couldn’t possibly relate to their duties. They discussed those in daily meeting after close of business. Discussions of Noct’s training, safety concerns and security details, nutrition – which these days ended in a frantic session of mutual masturbation pressed against the bookcase in his office. 

After dinner, Gladio kissed him, half-heartedly invited him to come to bed early, and left to take the plates back down to the Citadel’s kitchens. Ignis took up the decoded communique from the commodore, as well as the latest report from the crownsguard assigned to his legwork, and a fresh copy of the letter he’d long since memorized which was the only sample of Anoctinum’s handwriting and speech patterns he could find. 

With an orange highlighter, he circled a familiar four digits near the bottom of the page. ‘ _Send me back to be number 1387_.’ Anoctinum had written that. As soon as he’d seen Argentum’s written code (N-1PO1388) he’d known exactly what Anoctinum had meant back then. 

Commodore Highwind was already deep undercover in Niflheim, investigating the MT Centre. He’d called her, and pretended to be doing a general trivia competition – asking if she knew of any significant events in Niflheim between 13-87M.E. “And perhaps 88 as well,” he’d added. 

“Not a history gal,” she replied. “Guess you wasted your lifeline. Good luck, Glasses.” Good luck being code for ‘I’ll look into it’. 

Hopefully knowing Anoctinum’s number code would have narrowed her search enough for her to actually get some decent information. 

He flipped to her communique and started reading. 

When Gladiolus returned, it was to find Ignis laughing to himself and drinking an overly full glass of brandy. “What?” 

“I really ought to put more faith into Noct’s instincts,” he said, draining the glass. He waved the paper about towards the prince’s Shield. “MT Unit N-1PO1387. Production date, October 25th 735M.E. The sole participant in a control group of the ageing process. Deposited at the orphanage in Ghorovas. Reacquired at 16 years and chose to become an Empty. One assignment: Lunafreya Nox Flauret, status ongoing. Current known location: Insomnia, Lucis.” 

“Okay...?” Gladio asked, coming to sit next to him. “So you found Anoctinum’s file. Why’s that funny?” 

“Because that’s the information Prompto Argentum gave us, Gladio,” he said, setting down the glass. “The code he chose to give me just so happens to be one digit off Anoctinum’s? When he is trying to play it safe so no one will be able to send him back.” He ran his hands through hair that was becoming unstuck from its usual style. “Production round 2 1378 was already decommissioned before Anoctinum got back to the Facility, and round 3 hasn’t hit the thousands yet. This entire time Noct has been _right_ about Prompto Argentum.” 

Gladio sighed. “Huh. Well... he’ll be relieved to hear that. You gonna tell him?” 

“Tomorrow.” He stood up, stretched and groaned. “I don’t yet know what we’ll do about Mr Argentum. Somehow his memories have been manipulated. But that can wait.” He gave his husband a look he hadn’t dared in months. “Take me to bed, dear Gladio.” 

“About time!”


	40. Chapter Thirty-One

Bed rest was _boring_. Prompto was bored. He’d grown tired of the puzzle book, and reading, and sleeping. He was so relieved when it was time to get up for his appointment. It was something to actually _do_. 

After he got dressed, there was a knock at the door. He opened it up to see Cindy, dressed in her scarlets, smiling at him. “Ready to go?” 

“You got it.” He smiled and linked her arm through his, sharing a little of his weight on her as they made their way to the elevator and out onto the street. He had turned to walk towards the hospital, but the pull of Cindy’s arm brought him to a stop. She was walking to a familiar black car with a slightly familiar figure leaning against it. 

“Prompto,” she said, “you remember Nyx?” 

“Oh, yeah. Hey!” He gave the blank-faced guard a smile and got a shallow bow in answer. “You volunteered to drive me?” 

“Something like that,” Nyx answered. He held the door open, and Cindy climbed in the back. Then he adjusted the passenger seat for Prompto to sit comfortably. 

Once Prompto was settled, he closed the door. Walking around to the driver’s door, he took out his phone to shoot off a text. Prompto wondered who he was messaging, or maybe he was letting Mrs Ullric know where he and Cindy were. 

At the hospital, he stepped out and made a little confused noise when the other two didn’t move to get out. “You’re not coming in?” 

“It’s Ceremony Day,” Cindy answered with a smile. 

“Oh! You should’ve told me! I would’ve come out to the Tidemother’s temple with you,” he answered with a smile. 

She tilted her head slightly. “I’m only going to the citadel’s joined temple,” she answered. “But it’s kind of you to offer.” 

“Oh. Okay.” She wasn’t going to make an offering at the temple for her Ceremony Day? Did they not do that in Insomnia? 

He thanked them both again, and then headed to the maternity ward. He didn’t cry so much during the ultrasound this time, but he did tear up a little. Another picture in hand, redressed, he gently rebuffed the nurse’s question about booking in the birthdate. He still had a couple weeks to go, why were they all in such a rush? 

When he stepped out onto the street, he blinked at seeing a familiar figure leaning up against yet another familiar car. The convertible one, the one the prince had driven the previous day. 

Lord Scientia stood up. “Good afternoon, Mr Argentum.” He opened the back door for him and Prompto stepped in. 

“What did I do now?” He asked, buckling himself in. “Or did the prince ask you to come talk to me?” 

“Neither, Mr Argentum,” Scientia answered. “But we will have our discussion once we’ve returned to the apartment.” 

“That’s not nerve-wrecking at all,” Prompto mumbled. 

As they drove, the driver asked him questions about the appointment, enquired if he’d made the appointment for his C-section yet. He answered as best as he could. 

He headed into the bathroom when they got back to the apartment, and when he waddled back out, Scientia was cooking in his kitchen. “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled, heading to take over. 

“You’re on strict bed-rest. Go lie down, I’ll bring this in when it’s finished.” 

Prompto groaned. “But I’m _tired_ of being in bed.” 

He gave a sort of amused smile. “Well, you could always let Stella out. Then you’d be given a lot less bed rest.” 

“Whatever,” he mumbled. He headed back into the bedroom and sat up in the bed, bored. 

Scientia came in soon after, a light meal on a tray. Prompto didn’t even know he had a dinner tray. He placed the tray over Prompto’s lap and moved to putter about the room. He pulled the curtains closed and opened a cupboard against the wall across from the bed. 

Prompto just stared at the television that was revealed behind the cupboard doors. “Was that always there?” 

“Quite.” Scientia placed the remote within reach on the bedside table. “I have something very important to discuss with you, Mr Argentum.” 

“Okay...?” He lifted a spoon full of rice to his mouth. “What about?” 

“About Anoctinum,” he answered carefully. “I had an acquaintance in Niflheim discover his code.” 

Prompto perked up. This was good news! “Oh, cool!” 

“Yes...” he studied him carefully. “His code is—” 

Whatever was said, Prompto didn’t hear it. His entire body was seizing with pain, a sharp high-pitched noise in his ears. He clutched his hands around his swollen belly, as if he could protect Stella from the pain. It intensified, and then he felt his consciousness giving up.

  


Sounds came first. The beep of a heart monitor, and then just quieter, the wet sounds of Stella’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. A panic he’d not even been awake to notice properly yet eased. Taste and smell next, something coppery deep back in his throat. Bitten tongue, he could feel the swollen, ragged flesh catching on his molars. Beyond that, the clinical taste of the Facility. Too sterilized, air carefully pumped in. 

He clenches toes and fingers, to make sure he can. And then there’s a rustle of movement, and a voice. “Prompto?” 

He turns his face towards the noise and works to pry his eyes open. “Princess?” He manages out of a ragged throat. 

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice desperately relieved. She leant over and kissed his forehead, murmuring gentle prayers in a language he didn’t know. 

Why was the princess of Lucis in the Facility? He turned his eyes to study the room. Not the Facility. He thought... this must be the hospital in Insomnia. Not the observation room, but a private room. There wa a window, but the curtain was drawn closed over it. 

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll go get the doctor,” she murmured. And then she was out of the room. 

He fumbled a little until he found the controls for the bed and raised the bed up to get more comfortable. How long had it been? He remembered... Lord Scientia, bringing him food. And a television in his bedroom, but that was it. 

There was a magazine shoved down beside the armrest of the comfortable chair the princess had been sitting in. He picked it up and stared at the front cover. It was one of those trashy gossip magazines he and Cindy had both pretended they only bought for the puzzle page. 

But there was a picture of _him_ , and the prince of Lucis guiding him along with a hand on the small of his back. The scenery around them obscured by the words: “Prince’s Scarlet Found At Last!” and in smaller text: “Royal baby alive and well.” 

Well... Shiva’s tits. This must have been what Lord Scientia had wanted to talk to him about. Of _course_ the people of Insomnia would assume _he_ was the missing Empty. They’d have to make some sort of public announcement, clear up the confusion. 

He sighed. 

The door opened and the doctor entered, followed close behind by the princess and Lord Scientia. The doctor looked over him, checked his vitals. He explained that Prompto had some sort of seizure, and they were still waiting on tests to discover the cause. 

“We strongly recommend that you get a c-section, Mr Argengtum,” the doctor said seriously. “If we can’t predict whether or not you’ll have another episode, we don’t want to risk your baby’s health.” 

“But you don’t know if it’ll happen again?” Prompto said, holding his hands protectively around his stomach. 

“Well... we don’t _know_ if it will occur again. But we don’t want to risk the baby coming to harm.” The doctor said seriously. 

“Then we’re waiting. Giving her the best opportunity for survival.” 

The doctor sighed. “Very well. But if you have another episode and it is prolonged, we may not have an option.” 

Prompto nodded. “Okay. I can agree to that.” 

Once the doctor left them, the princess took the armchair again, and Lord Scientia dragged a plastic chair over. Prompto held up the magazine. “Is this what you came over to talk to me about?” 

Scientia darted a disapproving look at the princess, who only raised her eyebrows at him in challenge. He pushed up the frames of his glasses. “It is certainly related to that,” he answered carefully. 

Prompto laid the magazine on his lap and smoothed it out with his fingers. He tried not to read into the photograph. How fond the prince looked at him, the look almost echoed in his own expression. “They think I’m Anoctinum.” 

“About that,” Scientia began, his voice careful. 

“What is it?” He asked, nervous about his tone. 

“Prompto, you _are_ —” 

He didn’t hear the rest. He felt his throat tearing in a pained scream, as his body bowed in unbearable pain. He heard the shriek of the heart monitor, his own, and an angry voice: “ _why is he still **wearing** it_?” 

And the darkness swallowed him again. 

  


Awareness of _something wrong_ came to him first. He could hear the whoosh of air being pumped in, something hard over his mouth and nose. There was a steady beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor. He paused, and listened more intently. 

Where was it? What was missing? He darted his eyes under his heavy eyelids, trying to find what he knew he should be looking for. 

Then it hit him. The foetal baby monitor. He struggled, desperate to find it. It wasn’t there, he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t _feel_ Stella moving inside him, or an elbow in his kidney, or the pressure on his bladder. 

Terror struck him. “No, no, no, no,” he mumbled, barely opening his mouth. His hands were heavy, but he forced them up. Forced them to stroke a path from his ribs down. 

He didn’t feel the swollen mound of his stomach. He felt the squishy layer of fat, but nothing underneath. 

He opened his mouth and let out a wrenching scream. 

_Stella!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely did not want to come out. I had a bunch of different plot directions to take it. This was the only one that actually got any words down on the page. Sorry for the time delay in getting a new chapter out.


	41. Chapter Thirty-Two

His legs were like jelly. He couldn’t make them move. 

His abdomen didn’t hurt like he expected it to. When he’d explored his hollow ( _Empty_ ) belly, he couldn’t find any trace of fresh wounds, or a scar. But his hair hadn’t grown, and the scratchy hair that sometimes grew on the underside of his chin if left unchecked for days, wasn’t there. It couldn’t have been too long, but he didn’t know what had happened. Where was Stella? How had they ripped her from him? 

The nurse came in, panicked by his screaming. She saw he was awake, conscious, not having another episode, and did her best to calm him down. “Mr Argentum,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Breathe for me... one, two, three.... in....” 

A dark room, the village woman surrounding Lady Ulldor. “Breathe... breathe... Push... push...” 

The heart monitor was screaming with his frantic heartbeat. “Shut that thing up!” the nurse hissed to someone else in the room. 

“ _Somebody shut that that thing up_!” Thing. Thing. _Thing_. **Thing. _Thing_**. Somebody shut _that thing_ up. 

They were things. Empty things. To be used and pumped full. Made laden. Made _useful_. Then ripped open. Made empty again. Made to be used again. 

“Breathe... breathe...” 

A different room. Dark, hung with curtains. Warm, full, close. Lucian voices this time. Curly blonde hair, matted with sweat. A scream, laboured. Labour. 

“There we go,” the nurse said, as something cold slid into his arm. “There we go, dear. Shhhhh. Calm down.” 

“Where is she?” He mumbled, his words slurring together, raw throat producing barely any sound. “Where’s Stella?” 

“She’s with her mommy right now,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry.” 

_She’s with her mommy... Shut that thing up. Somebody shut that thing up. That thing. Thing. Empty._

He woke up again, groggy. Head fuzzy with sedatives, a high pitched shrieking slowing down and coming to a stop next to his ear. Something cupped over his mouth and nose – an oxygen mask. He opened his eyes slowly, they were sticky with sleepy dust. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. 

There were hands beside his head, and he felt the unfamiliar, strange sensation of the daith piercing behind removed. Then they pulled back. 

A woman with cold, beautiful features was sitting back in the armchair. Her eyes raised to his – he didn’t know why he expected them to be gold, but they were a beautiful green colour. 

“Hey there, blondie,” she said, putting some sort of mechanical device back in a case. She spoke in easy, natural Niflmal. “Welcome back.” 

“Who...?” He managed out through a dry throat. 

“Aranea Highwind,” she answered, sweeping some small braids of silvery-grey hair back over her shoulder. “I was hired to be Anoctinum’s Aunt.” 

He winced as a sharp noise sounded in his ear. He was used to a bit of tinnitus and it took the new flare up for him to realise it had stopped. He rubbed at his ear absently, wincing at the tender feeling of his naked ear. “Uh. Okay.” 

“New legislation,” she said, holding up the tiny metal ring that had been in his ear. “Doll Rings have been outlawed in Lucis.” 

“I mean, Lady Tummelt had it deactivated? It was just cosmetic.” He pointed out, more than confused. 

Her eyebrows twitched up, just slightly. “Well. You’re welcome to get another piercing from a licensed body piercer, but laws are laws, kid.” She tucked it into a sterile pocket of the case and closed it, fastening the catches. “Mind if I ask you some questions?” 

“You gonna ask them even if say no?” He replied. 

She gave a soft bark of laughter. “Well, I could give you more time to rest, but you’re going to answer them eventually.” 

He huffed. “Fine. Let’s just get it over with.” 

She sat back in her seat, one foot tapping on the ground. “Does the designation N-1PO1387 mean anything to you?” 

He swallowed, anxiously rubbing at his tattoo. “That’s mine,” he said quietly. “That’s me.” 

She hummed. “Yeah. I thought so.” She leaned forward. “So, I was stationed at The Facilty,” she said carefully. “I looked up some classified info—”

He grinned softly. “You go, girl.” 

“Thanks.” She shot him a brief smile, before growing serious again. “The designation for the Empty sent to Lady Lunafreya was—”

He winced at the sharp ringing in his ears. “Sorry what was it?” He asked, as it tapered off. 

“It was—”

Another piercing noise. He reached up to wiggle his finger around his ear. “Sorry. What are we talking about?” 

She frowned at the closed case and gave a heavy sigh. “I was saying the code of the Empty who became Anoctinum,” she explained carefully. “Was marked with Decommissioned.” 

“Oh...” He felt his heart sinking in sympathy. “The poor prince...” 

“About that...” She linked her fingers and looked at him seriously. “Lord Scientia and I had an idea.” 

He frowned. “What is it?” He asked. 

“The media has exploded over the past few day, with pictures of you, news about your pregnancy. All of Lucis think you _are_ Anoctinum.” She watched him carefully. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, Lord Scientia’s gonna hold a press conference and clear up the matter?” 

“Not quite,” she looked at him seriously. “What if you were to consider pretending to be Anoctinum?” 

He looked at her with a confused frown. “You want me to pretend to be Anoctinum... to the public?” 

“Not just the public,” a voice said from the door. He turned to look and saw Lord Scientia stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. 

“What do you mean?” Prompto asked, turning to look back at him. 

He slid into the hard plastic seat. He looked uncharacteristically rumpled, actual wrinkles in his shirt. His hair had fallen half-out of its sticky uppy spikes, loose strands dangling over his forehead. “I can’t tell his highness that Anoctinum is dead,” he said, sounding exhausted. 

“He’s not dead...?” Prompto replied, confused. “He’s in Helheim. You could probably track him down and get him out.” 

Aunt Aranea gave him a pitying look, and just shook her head at Lord Scientia. “If it _is_ possible to extract decomissioned units from Helheim,” she began carefully. “We can’t guess how long it would take, or whether Anoctinum would even be able to remember his time here.” 

“You can’t expect me to...?” He trailed off. Because that was _exactly_ what they were expecting him to do. “I’m not Anoctinum,” he said. It was the only truth he really _knew_. “I don’t remember, I can’t pretend I do. They’ll know.” 

“We have a cover story prepared for that,” Scientia explained. He sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. “You were kidnapped by someone posing as your Aunt, and taken from the city. Using the Doll Ring your memories were modified, to give you an alternate of the six months you spent in Insomnia. While Commodore Highwind was undercover in Niflheim, she discovered that your Designation is the same as that of our lost Anoctinum.” 

It paused. It sounded plausible, really. Even he didn’t know about himself, his history, his number, he would believe it. “I.... I can’t,” he murmured. “I’m not.” 

“You’d live in luxury,” Aranea urged. “You’d never want for anything. You’d be the king’s concubine, one day.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t want that. I just want a safe, warm home.” He just wanted his Stella and his life. He teared up a little. Stella... His hands slid under the sheets, folding over his flattened stomach. 

Lord Scientia took off his glasses to clean, and then slid them back on. “What about Stella?” He asked. 

Prompto turned to look his head at him, betrayed. “Are you threatening me with her?” He demanded angrily. 

“No!” Scientia replied, shocked and almost horrified at the very suggestion. “I meant to say.... She’s going to be raised as a princess. She’ll be given everything she could ever want for. The best of everything Lucis can offer.” 

He stared at him, heart speeding a little. The noise of the monitor sped up a little and Aranea reached over to punch a button and shut it up. “The nurse said Stella was with her mom...” 

The other man nodded calmly. “Princess Lunafreya has her.” 

He felt his stomach twist up. “I thought Lady Tummelt...?” 

“Knows nothing. Nobody in the empire knows about you, or where you might be. I changed the designation in your files to Decomissioned. Nobody will come looking for you.” 

Scientia nodded in agreement. “The princess and prince have her,” he said. His voice sounded soothing, but the words were deep with a threat. “She’s being well taken care of. As soon as we have your answer, the announcement is going to be made of the princess’s birth.” 

He had no choice in that. Stella wasn’t even _theirs_ , but they had her. She’d be their princess. And he could pretend to be theirs too, or he could languish alone. 

He swallowed, bowed his head. Clenched his hands over his hollow belly. ( _Empty_.)

“What are you going to tell the prince...?”


	42. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Implied postpartum depression.

Prompto woke up and stared up at the canopy of his bed. This was the new routine: 

He’d wake, four or five times a night, to the infant cries of Stella. He’d wait three minutes exactly, to see if she’d calm herself down, before making himself get out of the bed. Out into the hallway, towards the open door of the nursery. 

Depending on the time of night, the princess might have just beat him – through the door attached to her own bedroom. She’d be cooing, cradling the bundled infant against her chest. If she was, he’d nod at her and shuffle off into the kitchen to warm bottle of milk in the specialised baby bottle warmer. He’d take it back to the princess, who never failed to calm the baby down. The princess would cradle Stella to her chest while she fed. He’d go back to bed to wait of the next wake up. 

If it was too late, or not late enough – a painful spot between midnight and six in the morning – Prompto would have to do it himself. Stella didn’t like him, it wasn’t a surprise. He’d press her to his chest, but she’d wriggle and _cry and cry and cry_. All through the walk to the kitchen, the shuffling in the fridge, the warming of the bottle. She’d only quiet down once the teat of the bottle was suckled between her greedy, hungry lips. 

He’d stop halfway through the feed, sling a towel over his shoulder, tap along her back until she burped up gas – and usually a bit of milk. Then settle her back down until she finished the bottle or spat the teat back out. 

He’d stare, bored, at the wall for fifteen minutes after it was gone – to make sure the milk settled, as per the hospital’s midwife’s instructions – before changing her diaper just in case, and laying her back down in the crib. Sometimes she’d whine and cry after she was put down. If she did, he’d turn on the mobile and the tinkling music would usually send her back to sleep. 

Then he’d return to his room and try to sleep again. Until 7am. Then he had other responsibilities. 

Breakfast. He cooked now, carefully following Lord Scientia’s weekly meal plan. Once it was done, he took a tray into her highness – who was usually already awake. Often in the nursery, having a morning cuddle with her baby. Next was waking up the prince. 

Some mornings, that was harder than others. His highness did _not_ like being woken up. Sometimes, the prince would wake up easy, smiling at him affectionately. ( _“Anoctinum,” he would say, voice sleepy but adoring._ ) Sometimes the prince groaned in protest and pulled the comforter over his head to go back to sleep. Sometimes a little bit of coaxing was enough to stir him. Others he wouldn’t move until Prompto yanked the blankets off him entirely. 

While the prince was eating breakfast, Prompto would lay out his clothes for the day. Usually it was comfortable pants and a t-shirt – unless Lord Scientia let Prompto know the prince had a public appearance, when a nice suit was brought out instead. 

The palace staff had regular cleaners, so that wasn’t his job. Once the prince was finished eating, Prompto stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. Lord Scientia would show up just after nine in the morning, and take charge of the prince for the day. 

He’d crawl back into his own bed in the scarlet-draped bedroom. Sleep, maybe, if the night had been particularly rough. Mostly he’d just stare up at the ceiling and wait until he was needed again. When Stella woke up, Prompto would wait. 

If the prince was home for the morning (he almost always was) Prompto would hear hurried footsteps down the hall. “I got her!” the prince would call. 

The prince doted on his baby. Always holding her and cuddling her, chatting to her or singing songs with an off-key, unpracticed voice. Once she woke, if the prince was home, she wasn’t put down in the crib all morning. He would tuck her in a sling against his chest and keep her nearby as he played video games – with a set of earphones so she wouldn’t hear anything bad or violent for her impressionable mind. 

At eleven, Lord Scientia always gave his highness time off. Prompto would go to the gym, and the prince’s personal Shield would act as his personal trainer. He was starting to get back into shape – at least he had one thing to enjoy about this new life. 

Lunch, according to Lord Scientia’s meal plan, was prepared by the Citadel’s kitchens. Prompto would pick up three portions to take up to the prince’s royal apartments. The princess often joined them for the meal, if her busy schedule allowed it. It was the only time Prince Noctis would willingly put down Stella in the day-crib set up in the living room. 

After lunch, the prince and princess would put Stella in a pram to take her out for a daily walk in the gardens. Prompto sometimes called off, claiming to be tired, if Stella had woke up too many times in the night. Other days he trailed behind the two of them, hiding under the white wings of the Handmaid headdress. 

Everyone could come up to them, lean over the veil-covered bassinet to coo at the newborn princess. Dressed in the autumn weight bright scarlet clothes, he never felt more invisible. 

After the walk, he’d look over the fridge, the meal plan, and take out the ration book to pull out what he needed. He’d meet Cindy at the doors of the Citadel, and the two of them would walk out to the market. It was the only part of the day Prompto felt _normal_. They’d talk about everything, not just food or the prince or the baby like everybody else seemed to want to talk about. 

Home again, to the royal apartments. The prince usually had things to do after he returned from the walk, so he’d press kisses all over Stella’s cheeks and head before handing her over to Prompto’s arms. He’d wash her off with a warm cloth, quick and efficient, before putting her in a new diaper and sleepsuit. 

Prepare dinner for the prince and princess, then take a bath while the two of them ate. Most days he plunged himself under the water and screamed until he didn’t feel like drowning himself any more. 

Dried and dressed, feeling somewhere close to human, he’d go back out of the bathroom. The princess would be giving Stella her night-time feed, and she’d put her to bed in the crib afterwards. Prompto would go to bed at the same time and _try_ to sleep. 

Today would be different. Stella was screaming, that was nothing new, and Prince Noctis was hurrying to the nursery to collect her with the usual enthusiasm. But Prompto wasn’t allowed to rest like he wanted. 

There was a knock on the door and Lord Scientia stepped inside. “Mr Argentum,” he greeted with a smile. He was holding a clothes bag on a hanger that he hooked on the door of the wardrobe. “Good morning. Did you rest well.” 

“Stella is a month old. Of course I didn’t.” He reluctantly sat up out of the bed, pressing his feet onto the cold marble of the floor. The sensation a feeling, any feeling. 

The advisor gave him a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you go have a shower, wake yourself up?” 

It was a suggestion. But nothing was really a suggestion when you were the property of the crown prince of Lucis. He stifled a yawn and nodded, heading out to the bathroom. He scrubbed himself clean, shaved the sparse hairs under his chin, and headed back to his bedroom in scarlet red bathrobe. 

Lord Scientia was laying out a formal suit. Not scarlet, not today, but a deep red that almost looked black from certain angles. He handed Prompto a shirt and pants, “I’ll help you with the jacket.” 

Now he was being dressed and groomed like a pet. He stood still under the advisor’s attentions, staring unfocused in the mirror he was stood before. It was a fancy suit, hung with gold chains across the breasts of the jacket. 

“All finished,” the advisor said, arranging the last lock of hair. “Are you nervous?” 

“What do I have to be nervous about?” He asked flatly. “Stand around, look pretty, pose for the photographers. Lady Iris said a handmaid doesn’t actually have any tasks to perform in the ceremony.” 

Lord Scientia studied his expression carefully. “Are you quite well, Mr Argentum?” He asked carefully. 

“It’s Anoctinum now.” 

“Newborns are always difficult,” the advisor said hesitantly. “If you need a personal day, I’d be happy to arrange it for you.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied, tugging his fringe into a better position. “We’d better go.” 

Princess Lunafreya, dressed in a beautiful white gown, was giggling and tickling Stella’s sock-covered feet in the pram. The prince, awake for once, was dressed in his fancy formal raiments – watching his wife and child with a fond smile. He looked over when Prompto and Lord Scientia, and a slight gasp escaped his lips. “Wow... Anoctinum, you look amazing.” 

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. “Ready to go?” 

Stella-Fulla Flauret Lucis Caelum was thirty six days old. An auspicious age, and the traditional age that members of the royal family were presented to the people. The courtyard of the Citadel was full of Lucians, Insomnians, and any Lucian who had come into the city for the presentation. The gates were open, for one day. 

Prompto stood silently beside the royals while a priest of Bahamut said blessings and made the presentation. Stella was held between the prince and princess’s grasp while the priest droned on – and then they handed her over to King Regis. The grey-haired majesty carefully held Stella under the arms and held her up over the crowd to the roar of applause. 

Prompto felt his skin prickling. He drifted his eyes up from the stairs, roving over the crowd. He spotted golden eyes first, scarily clear despite the distance, and then took in the broad features of the face around them. A purple-haired man, dressed in a weird coat. He looked angry, and Prompto felt like he couldn’t break the eye contact. It was almost like the guy was looking deep into his very soul and he shivered, feeling the overwhelming darkness he lived with washing over him. 

The man blinked, breaking the eye contact. The anger hadn’t left his expression, but a cruel sort of smirk curled on his lips. He tipped his ratty fedora down over his eyes and gave a deep, mocking bow in Prompto’s direction. Then he was gone. Almost like he’d never been there. 

Prompto shivered, feeling cold in the autumnal sunlight. The king handed Stella back to the prince and leaned down to kiss her forehead. The crowd roared. 

None of them had even looked in his direction.


	43. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Depiction of postpartum depression continues.  
> Also the doctor's a bit of a skeeve.

Prompto sat in the doctor’s office, eyes roving over the posters as the doctor ran the normal course of tests. He also answered the questions he asked, though he couldn’t find a thread of how they were connected. Things like “have you lost interest in your normal hobbies and routines?” and “do you feel tired all the time, even after getting a good night’s rest?” and “on a scale of one to ten where ten is the highest, how close do you feel with your baby?” 

( _Yes._

_Her Grace wakes up five times I night, I haven’t **gotten** a full night’s rest. _

_Like a two?_

What did any of it matter?) 

((Princess Stella-Fulla Flauret Lucis Caelum, second in line to the throne, was to be called Her Grace. When Prince Noctis because king, he’d become His Majesty, and Stella would become Her Highness.)) 

(((Prompto had to call a child he’d carried inside him _Her Grace_ .))) 

“It’ll take an hour for these lab results to come in,” the doctor said, breaking him from his thoughts. “Why don’t you stay here and get some rest? I need to speak to Lord Scientia anyway.” 

Whatever. He just shifted so he was lying down and closed his eyes. A rest sounded good. Somewhere Her Grace couldn’t wake him up every time she wanted the smallest bit of attention. 

The doctor stepped outside, but he didn’t close the door all the way. Lord Scientia, who had driven Prompto to the hospital, was sat waiting in the uncomfortable chairs outside the examination room. 

“Well?” The lord asked. 

“I shouldn’t be speaking to you about this. I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously,” the doctor said carefully. 

“I’m his mental and physical healthcare proxy,” he answered – and he was too. They’d signed those before he checked out with Stella. “But if you don’t think either of those are at his own risk, then we needn’t discuss the matter.” 

There was a tired sigh from the doctor. “I’m waiting for the test results, but I am confident in my initial diagnosis.” 

“It is postpartum then?” He asked quietly. 

“I’ll have more confirmation when the labs come, but I believe so.” 

“What are the prescribed treatment options?” 

“The most natural way we’ve found in these cases is to impregnate the Handmaid again, that will balance out the hormones currently in flux and reduce the symptoms.” There was a sudden silence. When the doctor spoke again, it was in a careful tone of voice: “there’s also supplements…?” 

“Quite. I’ll leave you to research the best options while we wait on the results.” There was a click of sensible shoes against the linoleum as the doctor left, then a heavy sigh. “Bloody hell.” Movement, the soft beeping of a phone. “Gladiolus. Are you busy?” He asked, voice growing quieter as he walked away. 

They had to be talking about him, right? Lord Scientia seemed to know what was going on. Seemed to think something was _wrong_ with him. Like this wasn’t exactly how everyone expected to be: a quiet ornament, taking care of the house, never complaining, ready to be pumped full again. 

In Niflheim, Empties had to wait six months for their surgical scars to heal adequately enough that there was no risk of miscarriage. Not here. Whatever magic the king used to build the wall also imbued ‘potions’ with healing magic. After Her Grace had been extracted, one had been applied – making his abdomen good as new. Ready to be used again. 

That’s what the doctor had recommended, for whatever it was they thought was wrong with him. To ‘ _impregnant the Handmaid again_ ’. Lord Scientia had seemed to disagree though – probably given the doctor one of those cutting looks that made even the muscular Shield he was sometimes seen with cower. 

Why though? That was his purpose. The only reason for his existence. Maybe the prince no longer found him attractive. Maybe the royal family weren’t allowed to have more than one heir. Maybe because of the prince’s position, he couldn’t be given out to anyone else. 

He felt a wave of sadness wash over the usual numbness, and tucked trembling hands under his thighs. 

It was all he wanted in life. To make life, where others couldn’t. He thought about Lord Scientia, who sometimes looked at Her Grace with a sort of curious longing. About Sir Amicitia, who was a tender older brother to the princess’s lady in waiting, Iris. About Marshal Leonis, who walked by the crèche every day. 

Maybe he could run away. He opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling. Anoctinum – the _real_ Anoctinum – had been kidnapped. He felt careful eyes on him, wherever he went. Pretended not to notice the crownsguard that followed him and Cindy when he went to the market. Getting away would be tough. It would have to be at night. The sort of time the only people that were awake was him and the drowsy guards on night shift. 

Where would he go? He’d have to hide out while the search roved the countryside. Cid might hide him again, the old mechanic was fond of him. He could ask, at least. 

But where then, once the heat died down? Lestallum, maybe. It was a crowded city, moreso than Insomnia. Probably a place he could disappear – just another face in the crowd. 

No, he wouldn’t be able to have kids there. The report of an Empty would reach the capital (eventually) and they’d come after him. Drag him back to this shiny prison. 

Altissia, maybe? The guards would catch him, and hand him back to the Facility. Then he’d have nine years. He wouldn’t get to choose his own couples, but it was better than not being allowed to make life at all. 

How would he get there? Ostium Pier would be out. Lord Scientia knew that’s where he’d come in. Galdin Quay? There’d be _someone_ there who could fake some papers and get him out. 

He tucked the plans away when he heard the doctor come in. “We have your results, Anoctinum.” 

He sat up on the gurney and turned to face him. “Okay. You might as well let Lord Scientia in, since you tell him everything anyway.” 

The doctor looked guilty, but he did open the door and let the surprised advisor into the exam room. Prompto tuned out the explanation – if Scientia knew what it was and what Prompto needed, then he would make sure it happened. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something against his hand. He looked down to see the doctor pressing a little orange pill bottle into his hand. “One a day, with food. In a month, we’ll supervise your weaning off them.” 

Prompto just nodded, and tucked them in the pocket of his robe. 

“Any questions?” 

“No.” 

They headed out, Lord Scientia in step beside him – guiding but not leading the way to the car. Prompto pressed his face against the glass of the window, closed his eyes and let the driving motions pass him by. Did Her Grace still hate travelling by car now? She had when she was still within him. 

The car drew to a stop, much sooner than he had expected. He opened his eyes when the engine turned off, looking around. It was the apartment building, the one he’d lived in for less than three days before Her Grace was extracted. What were they doing here? 

He glanced at Lord Scientia out of the corner of his eyes. The advisor was stepping out, and walking around the car to open his door. 

Confused, Prompto followed him up – silent in the elevator – until the door closed behind them in the apartment. 

Sir Amicitia was there, the infant princess cradled in one muscular arm, singing the sort of nonsense songs Lucian children chanted between them. Hand gestures and all. 

“...what’s going on?” He asked, his voice sounding weak. 

“We’re giving you a choice, Prompto,” the Shield answered, giving Her Grace one meaty finger to clutch in her chubby fist. “Well, the same choice really. But without the pressure.” 

“...huh?” 

Scientia pushed up his glasses. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that you are unhappy with your current circumstances, Mr Argentum. Something beyond the tiredness of sleepless nights tending to Her Grace. Beyond duty and obligation, your happiness is paramount. When you agreed to be Anoctinum after Her Grace’s birth, you may not have known what you were getting in to.” 

“So...?” Prompto prodded, confused. 

“We’re making the offer again, now you known what you’re getting into,” the Shield answered. “Plus, when you’re not going nuts at the idea someone just stole your baby.” 

Scientia cut him a look, but redirected his attention to Prompto. “You can choose to stay in the Citadel,” he begun. “As Anoctinum. Share Her Grace with the prince and princess.” 

He frowned. “...or?” 

“You can return here. Live independently, raise Miss Stella how you see fit. The Crown will provide anything you require, or ask for. You can contract yourself as a temporary Scarlet to whomever you see fit. I would arrange everything, you wouldn’t have to worry about your obligations to the crown, or the prince and princess.” He pushed up his glasses. “The only stipends would be that you cannot take Her Grace beyond the wall – for her safety – and you would not be allowed to enter a Handfasting with another couple until Her Grace comes of age.” 

Prompto stared at him. He glanced over at the Shield, at the little princess sucking on her fist. “What if I don’t want Her Grace?” 

Horror flashed over Sir Amicitia’s expression. But Lord Scientia was able to control his reaction. “She’ll be given a nanny, and you would be allowed to visit whenever you wished.” 

“Prompto,” the Shield said, his voice rough with emotion. “ _We’re_ expected to use Her Grace because she outranks us. Not _you_. You’re her _father_ – you don’t have to...” He trailed off. “You’re her father, Prompto. Not some baby machine on standby until the prince wants another heir.” 

Prompto realised he was crying. He raised one hand to trembling lips, and felt tears rolling down his cheeks. “But they took her away,” he said, his voice rough. “They cut her out of me and they gave her straight to the princess. She was never mine.” 

“Oh, Prompto.” Scientia sounded so soft, so sad. He placed a hand on Prompto’s shaking shoulder. 

The Shield stepped forward, gently pressing Her Grace into Prompto’s arms. “Whatever you pick,” he said carefully, “we’re going to be here for you. As your friends, as your support. You’re not alone, and you never have to be again.” 

The little princess tensed up in his arms, blue eyes locking onto his face. He could almost _see_ her building up to cry. “Hi Stella,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “It’s me.” Her lip began to quiver, and he slowly swayed from foot to foot. “I want to ride my chocobo all day...” he begun to sing. 

She relaxed into his arms, and his daughter smiled up at him. 


	44. Chapter Thirty-Four-and-a-Half

Noct stood by the window, looking out on the Citadel’s gardens. It was going into the last part of Autumn, where the last of the deciduous trees were shaking off orange and brown and gold leaves. Winter was coming, and he couldn’t understand why Anoctinum and Luna loved the season so much. When everything was cold and dead and dark. 

It had been a few days since Prompto had gone to his post-natal doctor’s appointment and not come back. Ignis and Gladio had been gone every day to spend time with Prompto. Ignis had messaged earlier, that Prompto had made his decision about coming back to stay, or to remain at the apartment on a longer-term basis. 

The door opened. Footsteps. Noctis didn’t turn around. “So which one did he pick?” He asked, his voice heavy. How had he missed Prompto’s changed state? He knew he was tired, and lacklustre, and distracted – but Noct mostly lived his life in that state, and had just dismissed it as the messed-up sleep from having a newborn. 

“Neither.” 

He jolted at that. The unexpected voice. Turning to the side, he saw Prompto standing nearby, Stella tucked against his chest. “You came back.” He could hardly believe it. He thought for sure his Empty would have returned to the apartment. Lived his life in peace. 

“Kind of.” 

He didn’t like the sound of that. “So you’re going back to the apartment,” he said, tired and resigned. 

“No, not that either.” A slight smile crossed the chapped lips. “Why don’t you just wait for me to tell you?” 

Noct just nodded and headed to sit down on the couch. He wasn’t expecting Prompto to join him, but he did. The blond sat on the other end, gently resting Stella back against his raised knees, facing his belly. She squirmed sleepily but soon settled down. 

She wriggled a hand out of her blanket wrap and grasped at the air, giving a familiar whimper. Noct shifted close and placed his pinky finger into her little fist. She squeezed tight, with more strength that you expected a 6-week old to have. 

He’d missed her, since Gladio had taken her off to the apartment to be with Prompto. But he understood why she’d been taken. Knew that Prompto needed _time_ to bond with her. 

( _A two_ , the doctor had reported. Prompto had rated his bond with her a _two_.) 

Her blue eyes, almost exactly like his own, moved about the room until they settled on Prompto’s face. With a happy gurgle, she squeezed his finger tight. 

“Hello Stella,” Prompto cooed gently, wiggling one hand in front of her face and then gently booping her nose. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk to her before,” Noct murmured, watching the two of them. “I don’t think I’ve heard you _talk_ since coming here.” 

“Yeah…” He shifted, then turned to look at the prince. “I’ve been… in a really bad place. Not saying I’m all better but… we’re working on it. It’s been good, having her to myself the last few days.” He hesitantly met Noct’s eyes, and there was a defiant sort of bravery in his gaze. “I didn’t feel like she was mine any more. Everything here made me feel like I couldn’t have her as mine. Did Scientia tell you? I thought I had to call her _your grace_ , I didn’t think I could even use her name.” 

Noct felt sick with guilt. He reached out to touch Prompto’s hand, where it cupped behind her head to support her neck. “I never meant for you to feel...” 

“It doesn’t really matter what you meant,” Prompto interrupted. 

He sat back, startled. Even at their most intimate, Anoctinum had never spoken to him like that, never been so confident. Nobody ever spoke to him like that – like he was a normal person, even if it was to yell at him. It was enticing. It was _sexy_. He tried to stamp the feeling down, now really wasn’t the time. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He drew his hands back, reluctantly tugging his pinky out of Stella’s grip. He folded them in his lap to show he wasn’t going to reach out again. “Then you’ve decided to go back?” He asked carefully. 

Prompto shook his head. “I’m coming back to the Citadel,” the blond answered. “Stella will be our child, you can raise her like a princess. I’ll still come by and do the household stuff that a Handmaid is expected to.” 

“…but?” 

“I’m not Anoctinum. Or if I was, I don’t remember that. I can’t… I can’t pretend like I am, your highness.” 

_But you are_ , Noct wanted to scream. He was Anoctinum, he just couldn’t _remember_ because of what his kidnapper had done to him using the Doll Ring. But he _couldn’t_ say that. Because Prompto couldn’t hear it. 

“Okay,” he said gently. “How can we make you feel more comfortable, then?” 

A brief smile flickered over the blond’s expression. He adjusted Stella in his arms, she’d drifted back to sleep. “I need _space_ , mainly,” he said. “Scientia said there was another room, in this wing? For a Handmaid, before she gets pregnant.” 

There was. The Scarlet Room. Anoctinum had stayed there before, on the night he hadn’t slept in bed with Noct. When he was being trapped and abused by whoever the fake Aunt had been. Noct had wanted to tear the place down. 

“We’ll get it prepared for you,” he promised. “Get a crib in for Stella. You still want to watch her overnight?” 

Prompto nodded, grateful. “I know... I know the princess might... I mean, she wakes up to feed her sometimes. But Stella’s almost sleeping through some nights now.” 

“Don’t worry about Luna,” he murmured. “She’s just worried about you. She’ll make time to play with Stella. It’s fine.” 

That earned him a brief smile. “I... I’m not close to you, your highness,” Prompto began carefully. “But I want to be. If I’m going to be the royal Empty, I want the kind of life the Handmaid would have. But we can’t force it. I thought... we could... date...? Kind of?” He shifted restlessly, careful not to jostle Stella. “Nothing public. Not while everyone thinks I’m your old Empty. But... maybe we could have dinner sometimes? Hang out in the evening while the princess watches Stella?” 

Just like they had before. Noct wondered if, somewhere deep down, Prompto missed those nights and wanted them back. 

He gave the blond a brief smile. “Is that all? Of course we can.” 

“It’s not.” Prompto took a deep breath, and couldn’t meet his eyes. He touched Stella’s cheek with two fingers, a soft look in his eyes. Longing. “I want to keep having children,” he murmured. With that same bravery, he turned to look at Noct. “I want to give Lord Scientia a baby,” he said, determined. And then, a little weaker: “and Sir Amicitia.” 

Noct clenched his jaw. “I see.” 

“He didn’t ask!” Prompto said quickly. 

“He wouldn’t dare,” he said, trying to shove his anger down. 

Specs wouldn’t step _close_ to something as improper as asking the prince if he could _use Noct’s Empty_ to have a child. He clenched his fists and then slowly forced his muscles to react. To calm himself down. 

“I’ll let you discuss that with Ignis,” he said. “But... I won’t argue. This is what you want, and I want you to have everything you need.” 

Prompto reached out and touched his hand. “Thank you.” He murmured, genuine in his gratitude. “I’ve become close to them, and I see the way they look at Stella when they think I’m not watching. I want... I want to do this. For them. Because they deserve kids. And to pay them back. But I’m also doing it for me.” 

“You don’t have to explain, Prompto,” he promised. “It’s your body. Your autonomy. I’m... I can’t say I’m not jealous that they’ll get to have you, but you’re not mine to lend out.” He turned his hand over to they could link their fingers together. “I just want you to stay here. I want to be with you. And Stella, and Luna. I want us to be a family.” 

Prompto gave his hand a little squeeze. “I’d like that too, your highness." 

“Maybe you can start by calling me Noct?” 

“Noct,” Prompto said, testing the word out. He did it just like Anoctinum had, when he was figuring out a new word in Lucian he hadn’t used before. “Yeah. I think I can do that.” 

Noct smiled, a bittersweet feeling sinking in his stomach. “Why don’t you grab the baby sling? I’ll show you and Stella to your room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not come out either. There won't be too many more chapters after this one, I think. Hope you enjoyed! And hopefully I can get another chapter out quicker than this one.


	45. Chapter Thirty-Five

“You’re quiet today, Prompto.” 

He blinked out of his thoughts. “Huh?” 

Cindy giggled and nudged him with her elbow. “I said, you’re quiet today.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just... thinking about stuff.” 

“I thought as much,” she said. “What’s on your mind?” 

“I have The Ceremony tonight. With Lord Scientia.” 

They’d talked about it the other morning, while Prompto had been preparing breakfast for Noct and Lunafreya. 

Scientia had looked at him, very seriously. Then he introduced the subject himself: “His highness informed me that you wish to... provide me with a child.” 

What a way to put it. “Yeah...” He shifted restlessly, stirring the pancake batter. “I’m not gonna be offended if you don’t want...” He trailed off. “I just... I see the way you look at Stella. Remember you talking about continuing on your family name. I want to do this for you.” 

The advisor watched him calmly through the lenses of his glasses. “Only me?” 

He blushed and lowered his face down to the bowl. “...and Sir Amicitia,” he mumbled. 

When he dared to look up, a faint smile was on the refined face. “That’s very kind of you, Prompto. I’d be honoured.” He folded his hands together on the countertop. “According to my research, there’s been great progress in Altissia on Insemination...” 

Prompto paused, looking up at him carefully. “With Empties?” 

“Well... all the trials have been conducted on Handmaids, but surely it could transfer?” 

“I don’t know. Things work differently with Empties...” He trailed off, a hand faltering as it reached for the ulwaat berries. “You don’t want to...?” 

“I’m only concerned with making this as comfortable for you as possible,” Scientia said quickly. “It’s not a matter of willingness for copulation.” 

Prompto added a cupful of berries into the batter and carefully folded them in. “I just... It’s more natural, the other way. I’d rather a dick in me than a turkey baster.” 

A slight pink flush crossed his nose and cheeks. “I suppose I can understand that...” 

They were silent, until Prompto had pancakes sizzling in the pan. Then he dared to speak again: “if you’re worried that you won’t be able to... _perform_ , there are aids for that...” 

An almost startled huff of a laugh escaped the advisor’s lips. “No, believe me, it’s not that.” He shook his head. “I’ll arrange the ceremony for a few days time?” 

“So soon?” Prompto asked, surprised. But not unhappily so. 

“Of course the final decision is yours. But Her Grace is six months old now, and Prince Noctis has finally admitted to me that it’s what you desire. I thought you’d asked him.” 

“I did... remind him about the conditions of my return,” he admitted. “I thought it was about time.” 

“So... a few days?” Scientia suggested again. 

He nodded. “Yes. I’d like to... visit the temple of the Tidemother, make an offering.” 

So here he was, the morning of the Ceremony. An offering boat carefully cradled in his lap. His knee wouldn’t stop jiggling. 

“It’s alright to be nervous, Prompto,” Cindy said, reaching to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

He _was_ nervous. He’d never even met Scientia’s wife before, and now he was going to be in bed with her. And Noct was going to be there. 

It was a husband’s right, here, to be present while their Handmaid laid with another. But Noct hadn’t phrased it like it was his right. While they sat together on the couch, after dinner, co-oping an FPS together, Noct had paused the game. (Right when he was about to make a kill shot, the prince was a terrible cheat.) 

“ _Can I be there_?” He’d asked. “ _Can I watch_?” 

Prompto (after unpausing and _making_ that kill shot, Noct) had whispered that he didn’t mind if he was, but it was up to Lord Scientia. 

So Noct might be there. Or he might not. And he didn’t exactly know how he felt one way or the other about it. The two of them hadn’t... not since that one time before Stella was born. They spent most evenings together, Prompto made dinner for all three of them, and then Luna took Stella into the nursery – and they would play video games together. But Prompto always returned to the Scarlet Room with Stella afterwards. 

They pulled up outside the temple, and Nyx parked the car. Prompto stared out at the temple through the window. He felt a crushing sadness in his chest. It was neglected, filthy, falling apart. 

He startled, when the door opened. “I’ll wait outside,” Nyx announced. 

Prompto stood up out of the car, and straightened the winter cloak around him. “...you can go and come back. Both of you.” He tilted his head up, to the top of the temple. “I’m gonna tidy this place up. I can’t make an offering to the Tidemother in a place like this. It’s disrespectful.” 

They did leave, giving him concerned looks. Prompto stepped into the temple and looked around. He needed a starting point. 

There were control switches, hydraulics that lifted a wall between the sea and the temple platform, and opened a drain to take out the rest of the water. The stone platform was covered in a disgusting black algae. No wonder he never felt like the Tidemother was in Insomnia. They’d let her temple fall to waste. 

He found a hard-bristled broom and a dusty cask full of white wine. Then he _scrubbed_. Long after his back was aching and his arm muscles cried in protest. He spilled buckets of wine down as a solvent and scrubbed the algae away until he could spot the grey marble. The sea water kept splashing over the top of the wall with the waves. When the sun set, he was almost finished. 

Nyx returned, with a slightly concerned Cindy. “I can’t go yet...” Prompto said, leaning on the broom. “It’s not... I haven’t even made my _offering_ yet.” 

She kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll let his highness know. And Lord Scientia.” 

He kept cleaning until it was too dark to see any more. Then he made himself a bed out of piles of the dusty white linen they wore into the sea when they made their offerings. 

He woke to Lunafreya gently shaking his shoulder. “Prompto?” She murmured. 

“Hm?” He stirred, opening one eye to look up at her. He was freezing, and she handed him a warm cup of mulled wine. “Lunafreya? Why are you here?” He murmured. 

She smiled and helped him sit up. “We’re here to help you.” She crushed an elixir over him, and he felt the pain in his muscles give up and disappear. 

“We?” 

We turned out to be almost every woman in the Citadel. Handmaids and wives and servants alike. Black clothes and grey and scarlet all intermingled with each other as they sung hymns of the sea and cleaned the temple. As the morning went on, the women of the town began to wander in too. 

They cleared the rubble, scrubbed and washed away dust with buckets of wine and sea water. They took small brushes to carvings and embossed words, scrubbing out the dirt and revealing gold underneath. When the grey and black was worked away, the temple was revealed. It was gorgeous, all pale white and blue marble. Pearls and gold inlaid into the stone. 

Prompto was using what was probably a toothbrush to carefully clean out an engraving on the edge of the altar – a stylized representation of the Tidemother giving birth to their star. Lunafreya was beside him with Iris, the two of them folding up freshly laundered lengths of the white cloth that guests wore to wear into the sea. 

The princess had a high and beautiful voice, the songs she sang echoing through the temple and out into the offering platform. Tennebraen songs, and Lucian – and then one he recognised from home. 

It told the story of the Scourge. The first King of Lucis, who had insulted the Astrals and been cursed with eternity. How the Tidemother sent the scourge, to infected their bodies, spread to every kingdom in Eos. A plague to kill mankind. Slowly, painfully – every generation dwindling smaller and smaller until one day there would be no new children. 

But she added new verses, ones he’d never heard before. He paused in his work, turning to look at her and listening intently. When she’d finished, he asked her to sing the second part again. 

The new verses spoke of a hero. A King of Light, from the line of the Accursed, whose ‘vessel’ would repair their broken connection with the Astrals, earn the forgiveness of the Tidemother. By the vessel offering life to the Crystal, life and fertility would return to Eos and rid their star of this scourge forever. 

“I’ve never heard that part before,” he murmured, then ducked his head to continue his work. 

“It’s just a story, Prompto,” Lunafreya said gently. “People giving themselves a reason behind the infertility crisis of the last thousand years.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” He gently scrubbed the Tidemother’s solemn face clean. _I’ll make sure it happens, Tidemother,_ he promised silently. _I’ll continue on the Lucis line so one day the king of light’s vessel can earn your favour. So we can welcome you home to our lives and our light.”_

__

He caught the salty brine of the sea air teasing at his nose. When he glanced up, the women working on the platform were coming back in. “All clean!” they announced. 

__

He smiled to himself and set down the scrubbing brush. “Alright. Let’s lower it back down. I have an offering to make for my Ceremony.” 

__

The priestess from the Citadel’s temple, who had been in the muck along with the rest of the women, took her place on the altar, standing in the round circular arch. It had broken, at some point, but they needed a stonemason to be able to fix it. There was still work to be done. 

__

Dressed in nothing but the thin white cloth that soaked to his skin, he murmured confirmations to her prayers and placed his boat in the water. He opened the bottle of wine, Accordan, from the royal cellars, and spilled it over the boat and into the sea. 

__

He pushed it out towards the sea, and it was swallowed by a huge wave. He smiled slightly. As he watched, the wave crashed against the altar, and a burst of water jetted past the priestess and landed in the water of the platform. He gave a gentle laugh to himself. 

__

For a moment, it had almost looked like a sea serpent jumping through the hoop and landing into the water around him. He smiled and made his way back to the antechamber of the temple. Too much mulled wine, and the smell of wine in the air as they cleaned. He was drunk. 

__

He headed back to the Citadel. He had to sober up, and prepare for the rescheduled Ceremony that night.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: -takes two days to write the last chapter-  
> Also me: -finishes this chapter in two hours at four in the morning-
> 
> Also - guys this fic has crossed 500 comments! I'm so honoured, and happy. There's nothing like comments and reviews to make my day. Thank you all so much and I'm glad you are enjoying this enough to keep reading 45 chapters in!


	46. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> This chapter contains sexual content (the Promgladnis scene). While consent is explicitly given, the nature of the situation may be considered dubious consent. Proceed at your own caution.

Prompto found it strange that he hadn’t seen Noct or Lunafreya around when he’d come to drop Stella off for the night. He’d expected Noct to walk with him to the Ceremony, but he must’ve changed his mind about being there after all. 

Lady Iris was waiting for him - warming up a container of the watery solid food Ignis had found a recipe for. She’d watched her a few times, when the princess had meetings that ran long. 

Lady Iris looked over him - dressed in the scarlet robes of an Empty. He’d been wearing his own clothes as much as possible, since coming to the Citadel the first time. But this was the Ceremony, and not only were they formal, they were easy to remove and move in. 

“Is the prince not about?” He asked, settling Stella in her high chair. 

“No,” she said carefully. “He and Princess Lunafreya are in an important, emergency meeting. Can I make you something to eat?”

“No, thank you Lady Iris,” he said with a smile. “I’ve been fasting since noon.” He was already prepped and plugged and ready to go. 

She gave him a sweet smile. “You know, Anoctinum… you can just call me Iris. We’re kind of going to be siblings soon!”

He blinked at her, utterly confused by that statement. “We...are?”

She giggled. “I’m Gladdy’s sister.” At his continuing blankness, she giggled again. “Lady Iris Amicitia…?”

“Oh!” He blushed as he realised. 

She was Sir Amicitia’s _younger sister._ And by ‘kind of siblings’ she meant he was going to give her a niece or nephew in two or three years. Depending on how long it took to conceive with Scientia, and how fast he recovered from that baby.

He grinned. “Then you better get used to changing diapers! I’m not doing _everything_ for your brother.”

She laughed again, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Well...good luck tonight,” she added, a little awkward. “Do I say that? Good luck?”

“Good luck works,” he agreed. “The official well-wishes are  may the Tidemother grant you her blessings, but good luck is fine.” He kissed Stella’s cheek. “Be good for Aunt Iris, your grace!”

He looked her over for signs that she was changing, to shatter the illusion they were all maintaining that she was Noct’s blood. Six months was about when eye colour began to change, and her hair should have long since started growing in the dark blond of Brigadier Tummelt’s. But her eyes were still that dusk-sky blue, and her hair dark as the day she was born. 

He stood and raised a hand, flapping his fingers down into his palm twice as he said “bye-bye”. As she’d learned to mimic, she copied the gesture and said ‘bii-bii-bii-bii’. She was learning and growing up so quickly. 

He was just a little teary as he said goodbye to Iris, and then followed Aunt Monica down the halls of the Citadel to Lord Scientia’s rooms. 

She kissed his forehead and wished him: “health and virility” before hurrying away. He liked Aunt Monica. She was kind. 

He stepped into the room and took a deep breath. Then he raised his eyes to look around. 

Nothing but confusion met him.

Sir Amicitia was lounged on the huge bed, a book in hand, wearing a pair of loose white pyjama pants and nothing else. He must be fresh from the shower - his hair was still dripping onto the pillow. He looked up when the door closed and closed his book. “Hey. Come in, Iggy’s running late.”

He took a few faltering steps, until he could perch on the very end of the bed. “Where’s…?” He didn’t even know Lady Scientia’s name. And why was _Amicitia_ here at all?

“Some emergency meeting with the prince and princess. You look nervous. Why don’t you lie down up here and make yourself comfortable?” One strong, callused hand patted the mattress beside him. 

“I’m supposed to wait for both of the couple to be here,” he said weakly. 

“Suit yourself,” the gruff voice answered. “Might be a while though.”

It was a while. Amicitia opened up his book again, silently reading while they waited for Lord Scientia and his wife to arrive. 

Eventually, the door did open. “Ah. That was tonight. I’d forgotten.” Lord Scientia sounded apologetic as he stepped in - and began unfastening the complicated suit of the royal council. “I’ll be but a moment. Why don’t you lie between Gladio’s legs and we can begin?”

Prompto swallowed. He didn’t understand. Why was he lying down with Amicitia? They were both wed, he knew this. He could see their ring-fingers even now, adorned with plain gold bands. But where was Lady Scientia? And why was Amicitia not leaving?

The Ceremony was to take place in the marriage bed, with him between the legs of the wife. 

Lord President Scientia was now naked, and he paused to give Prompto a concerned look. “Are you quite alright, Prompto? You’ve come over all pale.”

“I…” He darted a look around the room. “Where are the wives?”

“Ah.” Lord Scientia sat primly on the bed, looking intimidatingly composed for being buck-ass naked.

“You didn’t know?” Amicitia asked, sitting up slightly. 

“There won’t be any wives, Prompto. We’re wed to one another.” 

Gender-traitors? Married as man and wife should be? He swallowed anxiously. “That... that’s allowed?”

Hands very gentle, Scientia touched his arm. “In Lucis, yes. I wasn’t aware no one had explained that detail to you. Did you… did you not tell Noct that you wished to give us a child.”

“I… I meant both of you. Separately. With your wives.” Wives they apparently didn’t have. Because they were married to one another. Because you could do that in Lucis. Apparently. 

“If you no longer wish to participate,” he said carefully. “We understand. This is...not what you expected, obviously.”

He shook his head and got onto his feet. With trembling fingers, he loosened the fastening of the pants under his robe and let the fabric drop to the floor. He was made to provide children for infertile couples, he reminded himself. This situation wasn’t any different. “I still want to.”

“Do you want Gladiolus to leave?” Ignis asked, still perched on the end of the bed. 

“No. It’s fine.” It would be weirder to do this without the other spouse there, even if he wasn’t a wife. “Is there a pillow?”

Before he could really think about it, he was lying between Amicitia’s thick, muscular thighs, head just underneath the straining white material of the Shield’s pants. His waist was supported by a thick, firm pillow, his legs splayed out on the Shield's legs and back arched up almost painfully sharp to give Lord Scientia a view. 

“You’re already plugged,” the man said, setting aside his spectacles. He almost sounded disappointed. 

“Y-Yeah? I’m supposed to come in already prepared,” he said, his voice trapped strangely in his chest from the angle of his hips. 

“A shame,” Scientia commented, reaching for the plug. 

He only made a confused noise, and Amicitia chuckled about him. “Iggy loves fingering.”

“Is that a complaint, my dear honey maker?” The accented voice was familiar, fond. 

“It’s definitely not.”

“H-honey maker?” Prompto echoed, confused. 

“Well, his name is _Gladioulus_.”

Prompto snorted a laugh, shaking with it for a moment. “That’s cute. Cause of bees and flowers. Honey maker.”

“We found someone with a sense of humour as bad as yours,” Amicitia grumbled. His large hands swept down Prompto’s arms, taking his own and threading their fingers together. “Ready?” 

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Scientia’s clever fingers tugged out the plug and Prompto moaned as it came out. Then he shifted between Prompto’s legs, spreading them wider, and pressed his tip against the ready entrance. 

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Prompto said, arching in pain. “Cramp! _Cramp_!”

Scientia hurried back, closing his legs together to ease the strain. “Too much?” He guessed. 

“Should we try a different position?” Amicitia suggested, easing the pillow out so Prompto’s hips were flat on the bed. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” He rubbed his face awkwardly. “I, uh. I only really know two? That one, and riding…”

The husky voice above him chuckled. “Okay. Let’s teach you something new, Blondie.”

He was on his knees, pressed chest-to-chest with Amicitia, hands on the bed frame over his shoulders. Scientia was behind him, and Prompto could feel the swollen dick against his entrance. “Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If it hurts, tell me to stop,” he encouraged. 

“I can’t feel pain from penetration. But thanks.” He appreciated the comment, even if it was irrelevant. 

“...interesting.” The Shield’s voice rumbled through his chest pleasantly, and he arched into the feeling. “Ready, Iggy?”

Prompto had never thought about how a situation in a bed with three men would go. But he decided he loved it. 

Scientia was expert at finding his prostate, and thrusting against it at with every movement of his hips. Amicitia was broad, and warm, and suckled kisses into Prompto’s neck. He had attempted to keep his voice restrained but it didn’t last very long. Instead he tried to muffle the moans in his own arm. 

And then he noticed something. His own dick was rubbing up against something long, and hard, and firm. He arched back enough to get a look and then stared in an almost horrified fascination. 

Amicitia chuckled and rubbed a hand down his spine. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to take me in.”

“It’s a big...ask,” Ignis replied, slowing down his thrusts a little as they spoke. 

Prompto snorted a laugh at the joke. But it sobered pretty quickly. “Even if I couldn’t feel it… I’m pretty sure that thing would rip me in half.”

The broad shoulders shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m happy to raise Iggy’s blood anyway.”

“Oh, you’re very good at raising my blood.”

Prompto snorted again, then gave a little thrust back. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

Once it was over, and he’d come over Amicitia’s rippling abdominals, he collapsed sideways against the mattress and tried to catch his breath. He fumbled for the plug, but it was the Shield who caught it and slid it into him. Scientia was opening the bedside drawer for some wet wipes, and a sealed back to place them in after he’d finished wiping all three of them clean. 

“D’you think it’ll take?” Amicitia asked, as Ignis curled under one muscular arm into his side. 

Prompto watched them both with a fond feeling in his chest. “I hope not. That was amazing.”

The two of them laughed, and with gentle hands, Scientia coaxed him close so he was curled up on the other side of Amicitia’s broad chest. “Get some rest, Prompto. I’ll wake you before it’s time to go collect Stella.”


	47. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Prompto slipped out of bed, grabbing his pants from the ground and tightening them around the waist. Scientia and Amicitia were still asleep - but after his power nap he was restless, thinking about Stella and if she could get to sleep in the royal apartments. 

He slipped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him so that it didn’t make any noise. The halls were deserted this time of night - apparently there were no Crownsguard in this part of the castle overnight. 

He walked to the royal apartments, and the guards outside gave him and each other confused looks. “Everything okay?” He asked them. 

“Yes, sir,” they replied, and opened the door for him. 

Once he was inside, he heard the yelling. Furious Niflmal, in a voice that was somehow familiar but he couldn’t pick. “So you just **replaced** me?” 

He headed towards the nursery, and found Lady Iris inside. She looked guilty as she was rocking Stella’s bassinet. “Hey. What’s going on out there?” He asked, jerking his thumb towards the sound of the yelling. 

“Prompto!” she said, startled. “What are you doing here?” 

He frowned, confused by the question. “I’ve come to pick up Stella…?” 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” She hurried to get together the bag of things. She seemed agitated and impatient. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, worried. 

“Everything’s fine, Prompto!” There it was again. She called him Prompto. She never called him Prompto, it was always Anoctinum. He hadn’t even known she _knew_ his real name. 

He picked up Stella, who was agitated by the yelling, and tucked her against his chest. “It’s okay, my sweet princess. Everything’s fine. Nobody is mad at you.” He glanced at Lady Iris. “Did she have her night time bottle yet?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the door slammed open. “ And what are you hiding in **here**?”

Stella began wailing, but Prompto only felt numb. An almost perfect mirror of his face was staring back at him - framed by short tufts of blond hair and a Scarlet’s bonnet. “ What the fuck?” The other demanded. 

The door opened again and Noct rushed in, Lunafreya close behind him. The prince froze. “Prompto…? What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Picking up Stella,” he replied, grabbing her pacifier and trying to press it back into her mouth to quieten her down. “Iris asked that too.” He looked between them all. “You sent Scientia to keep me occupied, huh?” 

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled. 

Prompto just turned to the stranger with his face. “You’re Anoctinum then” He guessed. “The _real_ one?” 

The face pinched in an agitated and angry expression. “ Who are **you**?” 

  


Stella began to cry again and he sighed. “Iris? Can you take her back to my room?” He held her out to the lady-in-waiting, who hurried out of the door. 

Anoctinum had been eying the baby suspiciously, and whirled on Noct once Iris was gone. “ Exactly how quick did you replace me, Noct?” 

“It’s not like that. I was eight months pregnant when he met me. He thought I was you, that he’d finally found you.” Prompto explained, sinking into the rocking chair by the window. “She’s not his. Not really. He just wanted to believe it.” 

“What are they talking about?” Noct hissed to the princess. 

Prompto turned to him. “He thinks you fucked me as soon as he disappeared,” he paraphrased. “I’m telling him that you didn’t.” 

“ _Did_ he fuck you?” Anoctinum demanded, his voice raw with emotion. 

  


“Once.” 

Everyone in the room understood that. The other Empty - the _prince’s_ empty teared up and turned away. “How could you?” 

“Anoctinum…” Noct said gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

The blond pressed into the touch, like he’d been starved for it. Like he loved this man and had missed even the simplest of contact. Prompto figured that guess wasn’t exactly wrong. 

He turned to Lunafreya, trying to ignore a tight, hollow feeling building in his chest. “Where was he?” 

“Held hostage in Niflheim,” she replied, her eyes sad. “He lost the baby. He managed to escape about a month ago, and an old friend of yours found him wandering around the countryside.” 

“An old friend?” He echoed, confused. 

“Ardyn Izunia.” She looked at him, carefully studying his features. “Prompto, I’m sorry. If any of us had known…” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s back now. You both have him back now. Things can go back to normal for you.” He picked up the bag of Stella’s things Lady Iris had been hurriedly packing before Anoctinum burst in. “Don’t worry about me,” he said gently. “I have Stella. She’s all I ever needed.” 

“I’ll come talk to you about everything soon,” she promised, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I promise to explain.” 

He lightly kissed her palm and gave her a smile. “It’s fine, Princess. Really.” He shouldered the bag, bowed to her - then to Noct who stared at him with wounded eyes, and headed out. 

He grabbed the tins of formula and pre-prepared baby food from the kitchen, stuffing them in the top of the bag, before he quietly closed the door behind him. He headed to the Scarlet room next, where Iris was talking to a worried Sir Amicitia, rocking Stella gently in her arms. 

The Shield stood up. “Prompto,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual with tiredness. “What’s going on? Iggy _freaked_ when he woke up and you were gone.” 

“He was supposed to stop me from running into Anoctinum.” The words felt numb on his tongue. “You can tell him I’m fine. I promise.” He adjusted the bag more comfortably and put on the baby carrier, carefully taking Stella from Lady Iris and putting her inside. “We’ll sort everything out later, okay? Right now I’m tired, and Stella need to go down to sleep or she’ll be grumpy all day tomorrow. Just… not tonight, okay?” 

Amicitia’s forehead, scarred down one eyebrow, wrinkled up in agitation, but he nodded. “Yeah… okay. See you soon.” 

Prompto fixed him with a smile and headed out. 

The city was dark, and cold, and it took forever to walk back to the apartment. But it was warm inside, and someone had been in to clean it recently, so there was no dust. He tucked Stella into the cot in the bedroom, and opened the wardrobe doors to find a soft pair of pyjamas. 

He was still plugged up and full of Scientia - but he went into the bathroom to clean up. Now wasn’t the time to be worrying about the best chance of conceiving. Now was the time to worry about the rose-coloured bubble of a life he’d never belonged to blowing up in his face. 

Anoctinum was back. _Their_ Anoctinum. He’d tried to tell them, so many times, that it wasn’t him. But they hadn’t believed him. Scientia had made him pretend to be the lost Handmaid, amnesiac and confused, because the prince and princess couldn’t believe that he wasn’t. So he’d been Anoctinum for them. Built his life in between them, with Stella to share. 

And now that was all over. What was going to happen now? Was Stella still going to be their princess? The public thought she was, she’d been _presented_. 

Maybe it was better it happened now, before her hair and eyes began to change and everyone figured out she wasn’t a Lucis Caelum at all. Before a royal scandal happened. Instead they could quietly report that there had been a mistake, and… shit. Was he going to be run out of town? 

He _liked_ Insomnia. Liked the friends he’d made here. Liked being friends with Scientia and Amicitia. Liked walking in the gardens with the princess. Liked spending his nights playing video games with the prince. 

He dashed unwanted tears away from under his eyes. Now was not the time for that. What right did he have to be upset? 

He knew all along what he wasn’t. Had he really believed the life built on that huge lie could last? 

The prince and princess could be happy now. Really, properly happy. Not fake-lie happy. They had Anoctinum back. The Empty they knew and loved. 

And he could do what he’d come to Lucis to do. Escape the clutches of the empire, give life where couples couldn’t make it themselves. Everything could finally go back to normal. 

Cleaned out, feeling empty ( _Empty_ ) and worn down, he left the bathroom. Stella was fast asleep in the cot, and he pulled it close to the bed. He fell asleep, one hand against the gentle rise and fall of her chest. 

_It’s just us now, my little star._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that Ardyn though.


	48. Chapter Negative Zero

Anoctinum woke up, strung between some sort of y-shaped frame. Pinned up by his wrists and a bar around his chest. He tried to ask what was going on, put there was something hard keeping his jaw shut tight. He made a muffled cry, fighting against the restraints. Where was he? Where was Noct? 

What did he remember? 

He’d been walking, with Aunt Aranea. They’d left the Citadel. Why had they left? 

He arched, testing the strength of the restraints. They didn’t budge, not even an inch. His wrists felt raw, like he’d been struggling for a while. He gave another muffled yell again. 

The door opened and a familiar pair of golden eyes caught the light. A tall imposing shadow was cast in the doorway. A tall, broad-shouldered figure with ratty, long hair. Then the figure stepped into the shadows and it was Aunt Aranea, her gold eyes narrowed at him in disapproval, her silver-grey hair in a gathered tail of breads at the back of her head. “You’re awake.” 

Her voice was cold. Disapproving. He gave a desperate yell through the metal muzzle keeping his jaw forced closed, straining against the restraints around his arms. 

“This old game again.” She came over and held up a machine above his ear. There was a high-pitched whine, something familiar, like it was built into his very bones. 

When he woke up again, there was Aunt Aranea again. She was wearing different clothes, her hair was longer. “What’s your name?” 

“Anoctinum.” His mouth was free. When had it become free? 

“Wrong answer.” Buzzing, high pitched ringing. Her hair was shorter now, clothes more rumpled than usual. How much time was passing? “What’s your name?” 

“Anoctinum.” 

Wrong answer. Another day. Another question. Wrong answer. He learned, maybe twelve times in. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Thirteen-eighty-seven.” 

“What is my name?” 

He didn’t need to learn this time. “I don’t… are you an Aunt? I thought aunts were clones like the rest of us.” 

A pleased sort of smile on her lips. He’d given the right answer. “Who’s your first assignment, Thirteen-Eighty-Seven?” 

“I don’t… I haven’t _had_ one.” 

A pleased smirk. “Good.” She held up the same device to his ear and the shrieking returned to his brain. 

When he woke up, he was lying in a snowbank. It was so cold. Everything hurt. He _hated_ the cold. He was wearing the winter scarlets, but the wet and the cold had seeped through. Shuddering, he got to his feet. Basic winter survival - keep moving, stay warm. Find shelter. Forage from trees if necessary. Bark was edible in most cases. 

It was cold. He _hated_ the cold. 

There was a street a few miles in the direction he picked. There was a gas station a few more miles down. It was long since closed down, and boarded up. But the power worked again when he cranked the generator and he used the hand-dryer in the bathroom to dry of his damp clothes. He grabbed a couple plastic bags and stuffed it full with water and perishables. A couple more bags tied around his shoes so the snow wouldn’t soak them again. 

He slept there overnight, and in the morning he started walking all over again. 

When the high was high in the sky, Anoctinum was exhausted. He leant against the wall of an old abandoned shack. A red convertible pulled to a stop beside him, an a man with purple-brown hair leaned over towards him. “Prompto? Is that you?” 

He shivered. “I don’t… know any Prompto,” he answered, shoving his hands in his armpits. “Is this the way to Insomnia?” 

“Insomnia, my dear boy?” The man looked concerned. “You’re in Niflheim.” 

The bags he was holding dropped to his feet. “B-but. How did I…?” 

“Why don’t you get in the car. It’s freezing out. We can go to a diner, and get lunch. I’m sure you must be hungry.” 

“Wh-who… Who are you?” Anoctinum asked weakly. 

“My name is Izunia. Ardyn Izunia.” 

He told Ardyn everything. Lost and out of sorts, the only things he knew for sure were that he needed to get back to Noct, and that he could trust Ardyn. 

The man helped him out of the country, smuggled him into Galdin Quay. Then drove him back to the Citadel himself. That should’ve been it. He should’ve reunited happily with Noct and Lunafreya. But that wasn’t how it worked. 

They hadn’t recognised him. They’d thought he was just some other Empty, coming into the city. When he’d told the Crownsguards he was Anoctinum, they’d cuffed him and brought him to the Citadel in chains. 

He knew why now. They’d replaced him. Brought in another Empty to parade around as Anoctinum. Had a baby and everything. A beautiful dark-haired girl they named after the stars. Luna the moon, and Noct, the night sky. It was sickeningly sweet, and he hated it. 

He hated it even more when he found out he was pregnant when he left. And now he couldn’t have any more. Scarring, or something. He didn’t really listen after the doctor dropped the news. 

“Anoctinum,” the prince murmured gently, curled up behind him in the bed. He’d been learning Niflmal. For him. Not for the imposter - that _Prompto_ guy. He’d been learning, while Anoctinum was still officially missing. He sniffled. Had he been crying? His face was wet against his neck. The pillow was wet. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Because you already _have_ a kid?” He muttered bitterly. 

“Too fast,” Noct mumbled. “ _In Lucian_?” 

“Your fucking fake Empty!” he snarled. “And your **princess**!” 

Noct sighed and nuzzled into the back of his neck there. He paused slightly. He mumbled something in Lucian, a question. Anoctinum just sighed in annoyance and got out the translator tool Ignis had brought him all those months ago. Noct repeated himself, more carefully this time, for the words: “Have you always had a mole here?” 

He typed his reply back in. “It’s the back of my neck, Noct. I can’t see it.” 

There was an odd moment of silence. Then Noct wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his arm affectionately. Anoctinum pulled away from him, not wanting the touch. Noct sighed and picked up the translator again. “Stella is officially a princess, we don’t have to worry about having another heir.” 

Anoctinum clenched his jaw. “Because your makeshift _mistress_ had a fucking baby and you thought he was me long enough to get a Niff baby sworn in as a princess!” 

Noct was tense at his words. “Yeah, I got enough of that,” the screen read. He sat up and turned to face the other side of the bed, wiping under his eyes discreetly. Like Anoctinum didn’t already know he was crying. Hadn’t felt it against his neck. “What can I do to make it up to you, Anoctinum? You’ve been here for a month now and you’re still angry about my mistake.” 

Anoctinum turned to him, saying the words he’d been practicing with Ardyn in his spare time. “ _Illegitimize Stella. Have this Prompto guy sent away from Insomnia. For me._ ” 

Noct looked at him in disbelief. “ _Sorry, **what**_?” 

He reached out to touch his shoulder. “Noct,” he said weakly. “Please? For me. I can’t…” He rubbed a thumb into the stiff shoulder. “I can’t live with this jealousy, Noct.” 

The prince shuddered under his touch. “ _Let me talk to Iggy_ ,” he said gently. “We’ll get everything sorted out.” 

Anoctinum beamed at him and leaned in to kiss his neck. “Thank you, my prince.” 

Noct shuddered and leaned into him. “Everything will be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Anoctinum. He's doing his best.


	49. Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Sorry!” Prompto said, stepping aside. “She’s fussy these days - got a tooth coming in. I don’t know whether to get the teething ring with the nubs, or the smooth one.” 

The Handmaid beamed at him. “The little princess?” She asked eagerly. “Doesn’t the royal family have like… family jewels or something to cut her little teeth on?” 

_Probably._ He smiled. “I don’t go in for any of that fancy stuff,” he said quietly. “She’s a princess, but that doesn’t mean she’s better than any of the rest of us.” 

She giggled at that. “The prince was like that. I went to school with him, you know? Not that fancy private school or anything - Insomnia Public!” 

He didn’t want to talk about the prince. Sure, he hadn’t known that before. And it was kind of charming to learn that his majesty had gone to public school. He tried hard not to snort - ‘charming’. Iggy was rubbing off on him. _In more way than one_. He fought off a smile. 

The Handmaid was still smiling at him. He noticed - where was his brain these days? - that she had her hands cupped around her belly. A round, swollen belly. He beamed back at her, and put a questing hand forward. “Can I…?” 

She took his hand eagerly and moved it to the side of her stomach. A nudge bumped against it from underneath the skin. “I’m Alibertina,” she explained. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced before.” 

He smiled at her, giving the full belly a rub for luck. “You can call me Prompto,” he said gently. Because it would only be fucking awkward if she tried to call him Anoctinum. 

They still hadn’t announced about him yet - or Stella’s status. Each time Prompto asked, Iggy said there were still discussions going on in the Citadel about the matter. But he saw Cindy about in town with Anoctinum sometimes - and the other Empty glared at him. Prompto couldn’t help but think of a dog that growled at its own reflection, thinking some other dog had wandered into its territory. It was just as stupid, but understandable. 

_I loved your husband!_ he wanted to scream at the other Empty. _And he was fucking **you**! I’m the one who should get to feel betrayed!_

“Can I see her?” Alibertina asked, pointing at the covered pram. 

“Uh. Yeah. But don’t touch her,” he warned, lifting the cover. 

“I wouldn’t dare handle the princess!” she said, shocked. 

“I don’t care about that,” he corrected quickly. “She’s only just gone to sleep, I mean. If she’s jostled, she’ll wake up and I’ll be up all night.” He was probably going to be anyway, but… He needed a break at some point and now was it. 

She looked startled. “Don’t the royal nannies take care of her overnight?” 

“I’m much more hands on.” 

She leaned in to look inside the cover. “Oh, she’s so precious,” she whispered, her voice a gentle coo. “She looks so much like the prince when he was little.” 

He smiled at that. They had to say that, right? To avoid any sort of suspicion.

Instead of answering, he grabbed the teething ring that he’d been considering and gave Alibertina a smile. “I should go. People waiting for me back home.” 

“Oh! Right, of course!” People always got flustered when he said that, thinking it was the prince and princess. In reality it was only ever Gladio, out of training, maybe Iggy if the council finished up early. Iris, maybe, if the princess had given her the night off. 

But she followed him towards the registers, in the slow waddle that showed how far along she was even if her stomach might be deceiving. “Sir Prompto?” She asked hesitantly. 

He chuckled. “Just ‘Prompto’ is fine, Alibertina.” 

She rubbed one hand across her belly. “Could you… make an offering for me at the Tidemother’s temple? I’m 36 weeks now, and I want to… make sure it happens before the birth day comes.” 

He smiled. “I’d… be happy to, Alibertina. But, don’t you want to make one yourself? It’s more personal that way.” 

She peeked down at … well, where her toes would normally be, if she could see them beyond her roundness. “I wouldn’t know how.” 

He softened. He knew Insomnia as a whole was less devout than Niflheim. If her parents hadn’t taught her, then she wouldn’t have learned it anywhere else. They certainly didn’t teach it in the schools. “How about this?” He suggested instead. “I’ll come by the Citadel tomorrow. I can teach you how to make offerings to the Tidemother. We can make a day of it, you can ask any others to come along if they want too.” 

She beamed at him. “Really? You mean that?” 

He nodded. “After ten. I might have to bring Stella along.” 

“That’s okay! We’d all love to see the little princess!” She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Prompto!” 

He couldn’t help the smile on his face, and it stayed on all the way back to the apartment. Gladio noticed, and rubbed his beard against Prompto’s cheek. “You seem happy.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Good trip to the shops?” He rumbled. Big, expert hands slid their way under the fabric of his clothes.

Prompto swatted the groping hands away. “You know Iggy hates it when we start without him.” It wasn’t Ceremony night. But that didn’t really matter between the three of them. 

The last month had been hard. Soul-crushingly hard. But he couldn’t remember how much harder it would be if it weren’t for (who he affectionately dubbed) Gladnis. They’d been his rock, his comfort. Gladio more physically than Iggy - but Iggy had that level-headedness he’d needed. Oh, and the steady stream of sex. That helped more than he really wanted to admit. 

Hands slid back into his clothes. “Said he’d be home in fifteen an hour ago. So he’ll be back any minute.” 

He chuckled and put Stella’s teething ring in the freezer to cool down. “So he’ll be home some time in the next half hour.” 

“He said I could get you prepped.” 

“Unusually generous. He must be in a good mood.” 

Forty-five minutes later, he was in his second-favourite place. A Prompto sandwich with Gladnis bread. Gladio came first, he typically did. Prompto was close, nearly there. 

And then he heard the door bang open over the baby monitor. “Specs!” 

"Is that Noct?” Gladio grunted irritably. 

“Specs! I know you’re here! Shit…” Stella had started wailing. “Oh, no, sweetie, I’m sorry. I’m not yelling at you.” 

“Gladiolus,” Iggy grunted, the rhythm of his thrusts not pausing. “Could you…?” 

“Really?” He grunted. “Why do I gotta deal with Prince Brat?” 

“Because you’ve already come,” Prompto grunted, clenching his muscles around Iggy’s dick. “Please? I’m so close." 

Gladio huffed in irritation and got out of the bed, tugging on his pants. His annoyed voice came through the baby monitor. “You know, Iggy doesn’t actually _get_ overtime, right?” 

“Were you two fucking in there? With Stella waiting out here?” Noct asked. 

“Baby monitor is on,” Gladio replied. 

“Why is she still crying? She never used to cry when I picked her up…” 

“She’s teething. Not even Chocopop can cheer her up like this.” 

“Choco...pop…?” 

Prompto sighed. “You’re soft. Should we…?” 

Ignis sighed and got up to discard the condom. “We might as well go out there.” 

“You can,” Prompto muttered. “I don’t wanna see his highness.” He grabbed the wet wipes to clean up and tucked himself under the sheets. 

Ignis redressed with a sigh and headed back out into the living room. His cultured voice filtered through the baby monitor. “Highness, what’s the emergen- You don’t just _shove_ the teething ring in, Noct. Give her here. Where’s Chocopop?” 

“You told Prompto to put her in the laundry, remember?” 

“That was last week.” 

“What’s a _Chocopop_?” 

“Don’t _hold_ her like that, Iggy. You need to support her neck!” 

Prompto gave up. With a sigh, he tugged the bathrobe on the back of the door on and came out into the living room. He plucked Chocopop, the bright pink chocobo toy that was Stella’s security toy, out of the pram. “My precious star,” he said, plucking her out of the advisor’s grip. She calmed down to whimpers and sniffles, clinging to the plush tightly. “There we go…” 

He felt eyes on him, and when he glanced over, he saw Noct giving him a soft, almost longing gaze. “Hi, Prompto.” 

He nodded, and spared the prince a friendly smile. “Hey, highness. You beat Zisa yet?” 

“No… not yet. Donald won’t heal me.” 

Prompto laughed a little at that. “Stupid of you to rely on him.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Highness,” Ignis said impatiently. “I rather hope the reason for your coitus interruptus was more urgent than simply chatting with Prompto about _video games_.” 

“Right. No it’s… Coitus Interruptus? Seriously?” The prince looked between the three of them, mouth agape. 

“Don’t ask you what you do in _your_ spare time,” Gladio grumbled. 

“So what is the matter at hand? It must be of the utmost importance if you come screaming in here, waking up her grace.” 

“Right. Right.” The prince moved over and flung himself on the couch. He draped one hand over his face. “Anoctinum told me to illegitimize Stella and exile Prompto from the city.” 

Prompto’s fists clenched tightly, and he ground his jaw together. “Exactly how long are you giving me to pack my shit then?” He demanded. 

“I’m not…!” The prince groaned and massaged his forehead. “That’s not… I didn’t come here for that.” 

“Then why did you come here, Noct?” Ignis asked, taking a prim seat beside the prince’s legs. 

“I have to _know_ , Specs. You need to tell me for certain if he’s the real one or not.” 

Prompto looked between all of them, confused. Noct had… uncertainty? About whether the other Empty was his Anoctinum or not? 

Iggy sighed and slid of his spectacles, cleaning them off with the cloth from his pocket. “The matter is no clearer than it was a month ago, Highness. My counter evidence is as circumstantial as it was, and he certainly _remembers_ the things Anoctinum underwent when he was here. Nothing is conclusive.” 

“I can’t disinherit Stella and kick Prompto out just because he says so! Not if it’s all some big part of the Empire’s evil plan!” 

“Spare us the dramatics,” Gladio said. He headed to the kitchen, and Prompto heard the familiar sound of the coffee machine turning on. 

The sound of it stirred Stella, and she headbutted her little dark head into his chin with an unhappy cry. He tensed up, and turned his gaze down to her. 

Dark hair. She should’ve been blond long ago, if she was going to be. Blue eyes, like the sky. 

His memories of Brigadier Tummelt were fuzzy. He’d only seen the Tummelts once or twice for the ceremony. But he knew he was fair-haired and and dark-eyed like most people in Niflheim. It was long since time that Stella’s hair should have grown in lighter, and her eyes should have started to darken. 

He’d refused to think about that. _That way lies madness._

But there had been talk, he remembered, before Stella was born. He and Iggy had agreed to a DNA test. It had never happened, because he’d been pretending to be the real Anoctinum and a DNA test that proved otherwise would only cause pain.

He took a shaky breath, staring down into Stella’s pretty blue eyes. “Iggy?”

“Something the matter, Prom?”

He swallowed and raised his gaze. First to Ignis, then to Noct, where the same colour blue looked back at him. His _daughter_ ’s blue. “I think it’s time for that DNA test. Don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!
> 
> ~~now stop badgering Prom about the DNA test alright~~


	50. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Prompto was naked. It was freezing, and he was cold - but that wasn’t a bad thing. His feet padded on ice-slicked marble. But he glided like he was skating across ice. There was an ethereal sort of music ahead - like a crystalline instrument, or the voice of the Glacian raised in song. 

Everything was darkness, but he could still tell where he was. There were endless marble columns, black as night itself. The song grew louder, and then a somehow familiar voice called to him: “Prompto.” It was strangely accented - nothing like the sounds he knew. Not Tennebraen, nor Lucian, nor Niflheimr. But he felt like he had heard it before. Like a voice he knew as well as his own. 

He turned around, and he was standing in front of a luminous crystal. Black, but cracked open like a geode. Blue and purple crystal inside, glowing with its own light. He reached out a hand to touch. 

Then a rough hand grabbed his wrist, and he jolted awake. “I wouldn’t touch that.” He cried out in fear, scrambling back from the touch. “Careful! Careful!” Warm, broad hands steadied his back. 

He had no idea where the _fuck_ he was. He fought against the hands, scrambling to safety. 

“You were sleepwalking. It’s alright.” 

He shook of the last vestiges of sleep, looking around wildly. He was in the Citadel, he was pretty sure of that. The marble and stone and the silver decorations were the same. But it was somewhere he hadn’t seen before. A dark room, lit up by high sconces, with dark columns around him. Similar to his dream - and there was a dark black crystal inches away from his raised hand. “H-huh?” 

“Prompto, isn’t it?” 

He turned his head around to look at the speaker. Panicked even more, he jolted away. “Your majesty!” He hurried to bow, one hand curled in a fist against his chest. “I’m sorry! I didn’t… I don’t… _Where am I_?” 

“In the Citadel,” his majesty explained. The actual literal king of the country. One hand on Prompto’s back holding him steady, the other around his wrist to keep his hand from closing the rest of the distance between his fingers and the crystal. 

“How did…?” He trailed off. “The test. Right.” He pulled his hand back from the crystal. The king released his grip, and he rubbed his face. “We’re waiting for the results.” 

“Let’s get you back to the royal apartments,” the king said. His eyebrows were arched in a way that showed he had no idea what Prompto was talking about, but he wasn’t going to ask. He guided him out of the room and carefully closed the door. “This is Clarus. He’ll show you the way.” 

He bowed as deeply as he could to the king. “Thank you, your majesty. Um… sorry about the… sleepwalking-trespassing thing.” 

The king gave a tired sort of smile. Weary, but somehow familiar. He could see Noct’s smile in the tilt of his lips. 

Clarus was silent, side-eyeing him as he led Prompto back to the royal apartments. He bowed and Prompto gave him a much deeper bow in response. “Goodnight, um. Mr Clarus?” 

“Goodnight, Mr Argentum.” 

He stepped into the prince’s apartment and blinked at the frantic movement inside. He shivered - he was only in his shirt for the day and a pair of boxers. “What’s going on?” 

“Prompto!” Iris said, relieved. “We were just about to send out the crownsguards to find you. The hospital called about the results.” 

He rubbed his face. “It’s like… two in the morning,” he grumbled. 

A bundle of fabric hit his chest. “Put your pants on, Prompto. Their highnesses already have her grace waiting in the car.”

  


The royal suite of the hospital was almost unnecessarily fancy. It didn’t feel like a hospital any more. Which… was probably the point. It looked mostly like one of the sitting rooms in the Citadel he walked past occasionally. At least it was a comfortable wait. 

They were top priority, but it would still take some time for the two genomes to sequence enough that they could make a comparison. It was almost done, and they’d been called in a few hours ago, but they were still waiting.

Iggy had disappeared to go find “something with a close approximation to food” from the cafeteria an hour ago. He assumed he’d failed and gone back to the apartment to cook something. Or maybe the food had been an excuse to get some royal business done back at the Citadel. 

Gladio was standing outside the door, the mess of his untamed hair just visible out the small square of glass. Iris was there too, though too short to be seen from their seat.

It was just the four of them inside. The princess had fallen back asleep, curled in a reclined armchair that was as plush as anything in the Citadel itself. More comfortable than the beds Prompto had slept in for most of his life. He and Stella were on the longer couch, and the prince was tucked in beside him, toying with Stella’s fingers as she slept. 

“She’s been chewing on her fingers,” the prince said quietly. 

“Teething,” Prompto agreed. “We have mits for her overnight but she hates them, so I just have to keep an eye on her during the day.” 

“We, huh?” The prince echoed, his voice thick with emotion. Something like jealousy, and grief. “You’ve been getting close with them, huh?” 

“You mean Gladnis?” Prompto asked a brief smile. 

“ _Gladnis_?” The prince repeated in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Better than dear Honey Maker and my Little Candle?” 

“Yeuch.” The beautiful face wrinkled up in disgust. “Okay. Gladnis, I can deal with that.” He shook his head, and tucked the blankets closer around Stella. “But you _are_ close?” 

“Yeah.” He smiled down at Stella, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “The last month, they’ve been really good to me. Far better than I deserve.” 

“I asked them to keep an eye on you,” he admitted. “Since you decided not to stay at the castle. But I didn’t ask them to-” He cut himself off, not wanting to finish his sentence. 

“...make a Prompto sandwich?” He suggested instead. 

A slight blush spread under the prince’s cheeks and nose. 

A grin crossed Prompto’s cheek, as he recognised _something_ in the prince’s expression. “Remembering?” 

“Shut it,” he groaned. “It’s not the sex I’m jealous about. I’ve been there. It’s fantastic, but eventually you get tired of being a sex toy to spice up their life.” He folded his arms over his chest. “It’s… I _miss_ you, Prompto.” 

“You’ve got Anoctinum,” Prompto said quietly. “You don’t need me.” 

“...right.” The prince gave a heavy sigh and turned to look at him. “Prompto, I…” 

The door opened and Gladio entered, ahead of the doctor. “Good evening, your highness.” He bowed to them and started to put up some things on the lightboard. “The results are pretty conclusive, Mr Argentum. Her grace is definitely Prince Noctis’s child.” 

Prompto carefully pressed Stella into the prince’s arms and curled up, grabbing the side of his head. He grit his teeth, painfully, fighting against the headache. So she was Noct’s daughter. Which means he’d been Anoctinum. Everything he knew about Loqi and Altissia had been a lie. 

He whined, closing his eyes against the feeling of pain in his head. He felt the ground moving out from underneath him, and he fell forward.


	51. Chapter Thirty-Nine-and-a-Half

Noct _hated_ hospitals. Always had. His father said even when he was a newborn going in to get tests, he used to scream non-stop as soon as they reached the sterile white walls. The royal suite was done up just for him, so he could have some comfort in the years it took to recover from his childhood injury. 

But the redecorated rooms couldn’t hide what it was. Didn’t erase the smell of the santisier they scrubbed everything down with constantly to make sure it stayed clean. Didn’t erase the hushed voices, interrupted by the occasional call over the loudspeakers. Didn’t make the machines and equipment crowded around Prompto any less medical. 

“Any changes?” Ignis asked, in one of those hateful hushed tones. 

“Doctor took more blood for tests,” he grunted. “Iris get Luna home aright?” 

“Her majesty was well-settled in the royal apartments, and Iris is working on adjusting her schedule to free up as much time tomorrow as can be spared.” 

“Did you…?” 

“Already cleared, highness.” 

Noct didn’t even bother to correct the use of his name. He was too tired for this. He felt a knot in his chest as Prompto thrashed a little under the sheets before settling. He rested Stella down in her pram long enough to settle the sheets back around him comfortably, and change out the cool cloth over his forehead for a fresh one. 

His precious little princess gave a whine and cuddled into her other father’s side. “I know, sweetie,” he said, stroking fingers through her soft, dark hair. “Papa’s okay.” 

Ignis made a soft noise in his throat or that. Something like judgement and disbelief. Noct chose to ignore it. “She shouldn’t be awake this late,” he commented. “She’ll be irritable tomorrow if she doesn’t get regular sleep.” 

“I know,” he hissed back, not raising his voice. “I’ve raised her longer than you have, Specs. I’d know better than you.” 

His advisor’s lips pursed. “I would much rather you were forthright with me about any transgressions you perceive I’ve made, highness.” 

He clenched his fists tightly. _Such displays of anger are not becoming of a king, highness._ Being royalty fucking sucked, most of the time. “I didn’t ask you to shack up with Prompto,” he answered coolly. “To make a cute little house of three in _my_ apartment with _my_ daughter.” 

Ignis took off his glasses, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and began carefully polishing the lenses free of non-existent marks. “I don’t suppose it _occurred_ to you that it was precisely the sort of relationship that Prompto required at the time?” He asked, his voice very careful not to sound offensive. 

“ _What_?” He hissed. 

“I won’t speak as to that,” Iggy replied. “It isn’t my place to say. I will iterate, however, that as fond of Her Grace as I have become, I have never and _would never_ overstep my place.” He slid the glasses back up his nose and, through them, gave Noct an icy look. “I would thank you to remember that _I_ for one, have never doubted Prompto’s identity as your true Scarlet. Nor the princess’s paternity.” 

“So, what?” Noct demanded. “Didn’t stop you from making house now, did it?” 

“Might I be permitted to remind you that Prompto intends to serve as the bearer or _our_ child as well, your highness?” He asked coolly. “And you are _not_ the only one who thinks of him fondly, _nor_ the only person in his acquaintance to be concerned about his well-being.” 

“ **Fond**?” Noct snapped, furious. “You are my advisor!” 

“And my entire life doesn’t bloody well revolve around you!” Ignis, his temper frayed to snapping point, suddenly roared. One hand reached down and grabbed Noct’s shirt, curling in the fabric. “I have spent near my entire life tending to your every selfish whim! Gladly - for king, and country, and no small amount of affection! But you cast aside one of the most radiant people I have ever met because you doubt your feelings toward him - and then have the _nerve_ to be angry at me for seeing his worth!” 

Ignis was suddenly pulled away from him, two strong arms wrapped around his torso. “Alright, walk it off, Iggy.” 

“Don’t you bloody well-” 

“I said _walk it off_!” Gladio’s voice growled. Ignis stood, straightened out his shirtfront, gave Noct a cold look, and walked back out of the suite. The Shield turned to Noct. “I don’t wanna know.” 

“He just-” 

Gladio held up one meaty hand, “I said I don’t wanna know. You’ll never have to know what it’s like to have a marriage where your life and honour sworn to someone else. Every decision we make, from what we wear one day, to whether we should even be thinking about having children is made with _you_ in mind, Lucis next, and probably have a dozen other things before we’re allowed to even think about what _we_ want.” He dropped his hand back down to his side. “If he’s losing his cool at you like that, I can make a decent guess. But I literally _ain’t_ allowed to side against you - it’s _treason_. So don’t make things tough between us, okay?” 

Noct ground his teeth together. “Just… go get him. Tell him you’ll let him kick my ass in training this week, and make me salads for dinner.” 

“I’m not supposed to-” 

“I said **go**.” 

Gladio bowed and stepped out of the room, closing and locking it behind him. Noct slumped in his chair, and returned his gaze to the bed. At least Stella had slept through all of that, tucked up against Prompto’s chest. The last thing he needed was her impressionable young mind hearing him arguing with his two closest friends. 

He didn’t mind that they loved her. Many people in her life would. With luck, and amazing publicity, everyone in the kingdom would love her as much as they did Luna. If such things were permitted, he would have named Specs and Gladio as her godparents. But only those of Lucis Caelum blood were permitted to be sworn in as godparents and - since both he and his father and his grandfather had been only children, there was no one who could be. 

Iggy’s kid, if he had one, would be first pick for Stella’s Advisor. If Iris, or her future Handmaid, had a child then they could be sworn in as the future queen’s Shield. (If she couldn’t have kids, probably Iggy’s kid would be expected to step in.) There had been an Amicitia beside the Monarch for a thousand years, sometimes as dual Shield and Spouse. So it wasn’t like he minded Prompto being the one to give them a child - if they could be like siblings, it would only help their bond. 

So why was he angry? What pissed him off? 

It hit him. Sharp and painful, in somewhere soft and weak in his defenses. What if _Prompto_ loved _them_? What if, even after learning about Stella and everything, Prompto didn’t want to be with _him_? He’d be allowed to father Stella, Prompto couldn’t stop that. But what if he couldn’t be with _Prompto_? No more dinners, evenings playing video games, soft blond hair under his fingertips, counting freckles when he couldn’t sleep, seeing his eyes crinkle at the corner when he smiled, the way his cheeks puffed out when he pouted, the silly little chocobo song he sung to Stella when he didn’t think anyone else could hear him. 

Ignis had said that Noct had cast Prompto aside because he doubted his feelings. And even though Prompto had done the running, and he’d done no casting, his _feelings_ were never in question. He loved Prompto. 

He loved him. Loved him as Anoctinum, as Prompto, as the bearer of his child. As a lover, the scarlet in his home, as a stranger again relearning one another. 

It was why letting him go had been impossible to accept, even in the face of the supposedly “real” Anoctinum returning to them. When Anoctinum’s tattoo had matched up, and his memories had been confirmed as accurate - and Noct still doubted. How Anoctinum demanding he banish Stella and Prompto had made him break the month-long stalemate of doubt. 

He loved Prompto Argentum. 

If there was anything he was sure about, it was that. 


	52. Chapter The Square Root of Negative One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was meant to be another chapter between these but it just wouldn't come out. This chapter alone took three days to write anyway ><

The first thought he has on his own - that is, the first thought that doesn’t sound like Ardyn whispering in his ear - is that Anyvna is beautiful. It happens on their third walk. It’s a thought he’s had in the time Before. Maybe that’s why it comes to him in his own voice. 

They’re walking back from the market, bags full of food on their arms,when it begins to rain. It’s not real rain - it didn’t _really_ rain in Insomnia. But water evaporates and gathers on the underside of the glittery dome they call ‘The Wall’ - even though there is a physical wall of stone and cement around the entire city too. 

But it’s easier to call it ‘ _rain_ ’, because nothing else he could call it really makes sense. Well, there was Precipitation, but it didn’t fit. 

It was like a sunshower. He knows that word, though he’s never seen it before. The water drips off the wings of Anyvna’s headdress, glittering in the golden sunlight like little gems. Or dew-drops, catching the morning sun. 

_She’s beautiful_ , he thinks. It’s his first independent thought. He has it again often. 

  


They were taking the long way home, as they often did - with increasing frequency. She murmured, sometimes, that things were strained at home. He carries Ignis’s translator device in his hand, so he never misses what she says - though he tries to translate it himself first. He’s getting better, the more he speaks to her. 

Aurelia was eighteen months now, and it was about that time where she should be taking up The Ceremony again - either with her husband and wife, or another couple who wants her services. 

“There’s no _pressure_ ,” she murmured. “Not really. Nobody is telling me that I have to, or that I should. But they’re still _expecting_ me too.”

He heard, from Alibertina, and Apetrana, that Aurelia is walking and talking now. Anyvna hasn’t mentioned it once. She hasn’t mentioned her daughter once, actually.

“Will you stay, if you don’t?” He asked quietly, head bowed so his face is obscured from everyone. Even her. 

“I don’t know.”

They walk in silence for two blocks. 

“I think I want to tell Noct to send them away,” he admitted to Anyvna. It was a few days after the thought had come to him, in Ardyn’s voice. He was testing the idea, against Anyvna first, before he toyed with it himself. 

“Why?” She asked. No judgement, no curiosity either really. Just a soft question - for him, not her. 

He thinks about it. The answer comes to him, as most of his thoughts do, in Ardyn’s voice. “I’m Anoctinum. The princess couldn’t be their kid.” 

“Why does that matter?” She asked. In the shiny surface of a window they passed, he can see that her head is turned to face him - the soft skin flashing into view in the glass. He thinks - in his own voice - whether or not it’s as soft as it looks. 

He considers that question too. Why does it matter? “I’m his Handmaid. He can’t have kids with someone else if I’m his Handmaid. It’s the law.”

She hummed. “Have you had your Ceremony yet?” She asked, instead of questioning him why again.

He shook his head - he knew she could see it. She was watching. “Soon. I have an appointment in a couple weeks with the doctor. To make sure everything’s in working order.”

“What if it’s not?” 

He jolted, disgusted by the thought. “What?”

“Some women can’t, after a failed pregnancy. You thought about what you’re going to do if you can’t?” 

He shook his head - vehement. “ _I’m_ his Empty.” 

“You don’t have to be, you know.”

That’s the thought that lingers with him, once they part and return to their separate rooms. He kisses her cheek, the white wings of their headdresses hiding their faces, and what they’re doing, from anyone who might be watching. He tells himself firmly that he imagined her face turning, as if to catch the kiss elsewhere.

  


It’s like Anyvna’s words were a curse. His doctor’s appointment comes and goes and then the news is in black and white: he can’t have more children. Whatever Aunt Aranea did, meant he couldn’t have kids now. Or maybe he’d never been able to? He wasn’t sure. 

He didn’t go straight back to his room - The Scarlet Room, where he’d stayed in before. Or the royal apartments either. They were uncomfortable - a sort of hollowness in the rooms that made it painfully obvious to him they were built with a family in mind. Rooms made for this Argentum Guy, and the fake princess. 

No. instead, he went to the Ulric’s rooms and asked for Anyvna. She was dressed in the red dress, but her hair was loose. It was a tangle of messy curls, framing her cheeks, a soft yellow. “Anoctinum,” she said gently. “What can I do you for?” 

He pushed his hands into his pockets. “Come for a walk with me?” 

“Of course.” She grabbed her bonnet and the cloak and put them on. Aurelia must be at the daycare, as she usually was. They headed down to the enclosed gardens, to the spring section where it was still comfortably warm. 

She walked with him, chattering away and waiting for him to get around to talking about what he wanted to. “I’ve been talking with Nyx and Crowe,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of leaving Insomnia.” 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmured. “You’re the only one around here I like.” 

She linked their arms together. “You don’t like the prince?” 

He answered immediately, almost out of reflex: “I love him.” 

She hummed in acknowledgement. After a few minutes walking in silence, she started again: “What would you do if he chose Prompto instead of you?” 

He shook his head vehemently. “He can’t! _I’m_ his Empty!” That was what he _was_. “I’m not like you, Anyvna. I don’t have a family, or a life outside the city, or anything else to look forward to. All I have, all I _am_ is Noct’s Empty.” 

“That’s no way to live your life, hun.” She patted his arm. “Just think it, Anoctinum. About what _you_ want.” 

She kissed him under the cherry blossoms. His heart raced the entire time he headed back to Ardyn’s guest room. 

  


Gossip travelled quickly, especially in the Citadel. Before midnight, a maid is slipping into his room to whisper that the Prince and Princess had gone to the hospital - with the little Princess and the other Empty. He knew exactly what that meant. Noct had chosen them. Over him. Because he couldn’t have any kids. 

He was a useless Empty. And the Prince had chosen accordingly. 

He asked the maid to tell him if there was any other news, and sat at the window to watch the city in the moonlight. It was deep in the night when there was a knock on the door again. He opened it and blinked in surprise. “Anyvna?” 

She was dressed in a white nightgown, a shiny robe draped over her shoulders. Her hair was uncovered and mussed with sleep. “There’s news,” she murmured. “Can I come in?” 

He let her in and they sat together on the small loveseat. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” she said gently. 

“Just say it,” he answered. He grabbed a blanket from the bed to drape around her shoulders. 

She tucked into his side. “They went to the hospital for a paternity test,” she explained carefully. “On Princess Stella-Fulla.” 

He tensed. He felt like he really didn’t want to hear this. “What did…?” 

“She’s his daughter,” Anyvna explained carefully. “By blood.” 

“But that…” He swallowed. He could remember. He _remembered_ his time here. With Noct, with the princess. But how… “How…?” 

“I don’t know, hun,” she confessed. “What are you going to do now?” 

What the hell _could_ he do? Everything he knew, all the thoughts he had - they were a lie. He wasn’t Anoctinum, and he never had been. Never would be. Not with Prompto, and their daughter, and the children they could have in the future. “I guess I’ll have to leave.” 

She leaned in to kiss him. “I’m going to leave for Hammerhead soon,” she whispered. “I was going to come by tomorrow. Ask if you wanted to come with me.” 

“Come with you?” He echoed, shocked. “Out of the city?” 

She pressed into his chest. “There’s a whole life out there, Anoctinum. You don’t have to stay here and be unhappy just because you’ve never been anywhere else. You could come with me. Paw-Paw would house you - and we could both teach you how to fix cars.” 

He rested his chin on her shoulder. Closed his eyes and considered it. “There’s nothing for me here. Noct doesn’t want me.” He pulled back, to give her a shy look. “Can we go tonight? As soon as the wall goes up?” 

She kissed him again softly. “Let’s pack your things.”


	53. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was meant to be another chapter between these about Prompto waking up in the hospital, but it just wasn't happening. So we've skipped ahead to the next bit.   
> Sorry about the delay, the muse for this fic keeps vanishing on me.

“And this is the royal gallery,” Iggy explained. “Not to be confused with the royal _portrait_ gallery. These paintings and printed canvases depict important events and moments in history, while the latter features the official royal portraits of all one hundred and thirteen kings. You might feature there one day.”

“Why?” 

“Precedent. Aregina sat with King Regis and Prince Noctis for his official portrait. But he never married. I suppose it’s something to be discussed between Noct and the council of nobles after his ascension.” 

“Still no luck finding Anoctinum, then?” 

“Oh no, I located him months ago. He’s living with Miss Aurum and Sir Sophair in Hammerhead. He’s taken the name Cursus Mythril.” He gave Prompto a slight smile. “Not the most original, but…” 

“It’s cool. It’s better he’s picked a name. His own identity.” He turned to the paintings. 

“Have you and Noct come to an agreement on terms yet?” Ignis asked. 

Prompto shifted restlessly. “No. I don’t know. I’m no Anoctinum. I mean, maybe bodily… but Cursus Mythril is the one with the memories. What makes a man anyway? His memories or his flesh?” 

“Shall I consult a professor of philosophy?” Iggy asked with an amused sort of smirk. 

“No. It’s just… We should’ve included Anoctinum - I mean, Cursus on these discussions. But he ran off with Cindy instead. Now it’s not so much a choice as it is… a wait.” 

“For?” 

“Your kid to be born.” He turned to the next portrait, signalling the end of that conversation. “What’s this?” 

“That would be the first part of the _Via Pestilentia_. A fourteen-part series of images depicting the deliverance of the Scourge unto our star. That is the kingdom of Solheim, betraying Ifrit.” 

“That’s the revelation, isn’t it? With the king of light, and his vessel repairing the connection with the Astrals, right?” 

“That is the mythology, correct,” Ignis answered. 

“Why do you call it that?” He asked, rubbing one hand over his stomach. “You don’t believe?” He asked, surprised. 

“No. You and Princess Lunafreya are the only people I know in Lucis who genuinely believe in the Astrals, and their influence on our world. There are some who continue to worship Bahamut, but I know of no others who bother with the whole Cosmogony.” He pushed up his glasses. “Though I do believe you’ve begun a sect of those in devotion to the Tidemother amongst the wives and Handmaids.” 

He held a hand possessively over his swollen belly. “I want Lilium to be raised in faith, you know,” he said. 

“Lilium?” Iggy echoed. “I thought we’d agreed on Argentea?” 

“Midwife says it’s gonna be a boy this time,” he replied. “Argentum doesn’t follow the flowers theme like argentea did. I like Lilium.” 

“I’ll speak to Gladio,” he answered. “Lilum. _Lilium Bulbiferum_ , I assume?” 

“They’re the fire lilies, right?” He confirmed with a nod. 

A slight smile crossed Iggy’s lips. “Well. I don’t know how to raise a devout child, Prompto. You’ll have to help out with that. I’m sure he and Her Grace can take lessons together.” 

“I’m not a teacher,” he replied. 

“You did well enough with the Handmaids,” he replied. “The Devotees of Tidemother.” 

“They’re not calling themselves that,” Prompto replied, rolling his eyes. “They’re just- ow!” 

“Lilium kicking you again?” Iggy asked, turning to face him. He gently pressed his hand against Prompto’s belly and rubbed. “Are these walks helping?” 

“He likes your voice,” Prompto replied. “And fucking Noct. I figure if you can put him to sleep this afternoon, then I can get some rest before he gets back from all those meetings you’re putting him on.” 

“He’s meant to go to these meetings. I’ve been going on them for him since I was sixteen. I thought it best to get used to his new schedule _before_ Lilium is born.” He turned. “Shall I tell you more about the Mythology of the Starscourge then?” 

He nodded. They walked past the paintings, and explained the different parts. 

The Kingdom of Solheim betraying Ifrit. The War of the Astrals that tore apart the land of Eos. Ifrit’s slaughter atop Ravatogh. The starscourge infecting the kingdom of Solheim. A convening of the Asrals where they decided how undo Ifrit’s curse. Bahamut bequeathing the Crystal unto the Lucis Caelum family. The eldest son, called The Healer at this point, absorbing the scourge from the people of Eos. The Healer being rejected by the Crystal as its saviour. The crown of the kingdom being given to The Founder King. Bahamut bestowing the Nox Flauret line with the power of the Oracle. The First Oracle and the Founder Kinging forging the first covenants with the Astrals to be able to hold the Scourge at bay. The Healer, now called the Accursed being rejected by death itself and sent back to Eos - the scourge spread everywhere he steps. The Founder King being told the Revelation of Bahamut, that his bloodline will bear the King of Light. And the last piece, a depiction of the hopeful future: the King of Light’s Vessel repairing the broken connection with the Astrals. 

“What’s this Vessel supposed to be anyway?” Prompto asked, squinting at the picture. “Is it what the woman’s holding?” 

“No, she’s holding the Crystal - she _is_ the Vessel.” Ignis explained. 

“Wait, the Vessel is a _person_?” He asked, surprised. 

“As the legend had it,” Ignis nodded. 

“The Vessel of the King of Light;  
Born in Winter’s Star Alight.  
Golden-haired, Scourge unridden;  
Devout of faith, not born of woman.  
Rebuild the bridge Solheim hath burned,  
The Scourge shalt be banished, the Light returned.”

“Huh,” Prompto said, looking at the woman in the portrait. 

“It’s one of those impossible riddles,” Ignis said indifferently. “Not born of woman. It’s just not possible.” 

Prompto raised his eyebrows at Ignis, framing his hands over his swollen belly significantly. “I’m not a woman.” 

Ignis chuckled. “I suppose you’re not. Though I somehow doubt _Princess Stella-Fulla_ is going to be the King of Light, so don’t go running after any blond gentlemen.” 

He huffed. “You don’t know that. It’s really her decision to make when she’s old enough to understand,” he pointed out. “But no, I suppose she won’t be.” He smiled. “Still. Maybe one day you can sort the shitty business with Niflheim, and you can trade the secrets of the Besithia Facility, get your own line of Maid Typecasts.” 

“It’s on the agenda of treaty discussions, whenever the envoy is willing to begin _serious_ discussions.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure Lilium won’t be soothed by discussions of politics.” 

“He just likes your voice,” Prompto answered. “Besides. He’ll be messing with all that political stuff if he’s Queen Stella-Fulla’s Shield-Advisor, right?” 

“I might be considered a stuffed shirt about here,” he answered, “but even _I_ believe pre-natal Political Science lessons is taking it too far.” 

Prompto laughed at that. “Come on then. What’s this painting of?” 

“That’s the Founder King’s Shield being sworn in to his duty. The very first Sir Amicitia...” 


	54. Chapter Forty-One

“Mr Argentum, good to see you again. Come in. How’s Her Grace and little Lilium?” 

“They’re fine. Thanks doc.” He lay back on the examination table, letting the curtain pass between his chest and the lower half of his body. 

“How’s your mood been improving over the past two weeks?” She asked, parting his hospital robe and examining his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he answered. “The attending psych has been weaning me off the meds the last couple weeks.”

“Are you still sleepwalking?” The doctor asked, cold gloved fingers exploring the planes of his stomach.

“No. Not since Lilium was born. If everything checks out today, we’re going to move back into the Citadel.”

It had been… bad, during the few weeks of his pregnancy he’d been staying in the royal apartments at the citadel. Every night he’d wake up, the crownsguards on shift gently taking him by the arm and leading him back to the Scarlet Room. He couldn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but sometimes he got the sense of walking through dark, endless corridors - a faint song teasing at his ear. 

To avoid any other incidents, he moved into the apartment near the hospital with Noct, and the prince didn’t let him leave the bedroom. The prince was an expert at getting him back to bed without waking him up. 

Thank _Shiva_ that was over with now.

“Hm.” The doctor stepped back and there was the familiar snap of latex gloves being removed. “Everything looks good here. I’ll sign you off to return to active Handmaid duties at your leisure.” 

“Thanks.” He sat up and moved to put his clothes back on. 

He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to have another. Postpartum was tough, and he wasn’t really close enough to anyone else to want to help them specifically. Gladio was really smitten with Lilium, he didn’t seem to want any more children for now. And Noct… 

He blushed a little as he thought about it. He and Noct had been sleeping together during Prompto’s pregnancy. Literally _and_ the double entendre way. He wanted some time to settle in to their relationship. Now that he was... relatively certain he had a place in their life. Princess Lunafreya’s and Noct’s. 

Once dressed, he left the hospital. He’d been given his own car to use for the day. Noct’s fancy Audi, not the Regalia. He sat in the lane for a moment, waiting for the lights to change, then flicked his indicator. He headed along the North-West overpass to the Temple of the Glacian. 

He’d been meaning to make a visit over the past few days. Now was the time. Stella and Lilium were in the care of their grandfathers – His Majesty and General Amicitia having blocked out an entire day to look after them. He had absolutely _no_ idea exactly _how_ they’d managed that, but he wasn’t going to argue. 

The temple was a sorry state. It made him _sad_ just to see. He parked the car, covered it up with a protective cover, and then headed inside. It was warm. The Glacian’s temple should _never_ be warm. 

He started with the broom. Knocking down spider webs whose occupants had long since abandoned them. 

It was only an hour or so before Luna showed up, with mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. “I trust the appointment went well?” She asked, grabbing another broom and beginning to sweep it across the piles of rubble near the statues. 

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m signed off for Handmaid work – ‘at my leisure’.” 

“Ignis is making dinner for everyone,” she explained. “Let’s finish up here. Tomorrow we can meet with the Devotees of the Tidemother in the morning, and ask if any of them want to help clean the Temple.” 

“They’re the _Tidemother_ ’s. They won’t wanna help,” he mumbled, rubbing his face.” 

Luna smiled a little. “They care very much for you, Prompto. They’d probably do _anything_ you asked.” 

He laughed a little at that. “Right. Whatever you say, your highness,” he teased. “Come on. I miss my little princess and her shield.” 

  


The next morning, when he drove to the temple, a busload of the Devotees are already there, armed with cleaning supplies. He’s oddly touched, and when he asks the heavily pregnant Alibertina how the princess convinced them to help out she laughs. 

“Princess Lunafreya didn’t say anything,” she said, amused. “Anyvna—” She means the new Anyvna, who replaced Cindy a few weeks ago. “—mentioned she saw you and Lunafreya coming in looking all dusty. Lady Iris said you’d probably be working on the Glacian’s next, so here we are! How do you want us to start?” 

He was surprised, and kind of touched. They get really good headway – all the rubble and damages cleared by afternoon. They’re in groups, scrubbing things clean, as Adustina passes out neat little boxes of food. 

“So, who’s next?” The New Anyvna asked, pushing her headdress back and exposing a bit of bright ginger hair. “I put in a vote for Ramuh. He’s my patron, and I wanted to have a nice place to make my offerings every week.” 

Prompto blinked at her. “You’re not from Insomnia are you?” He asked. 

“Galahdian, born and raised,” she answered, her lips in an easy grin. “That obvious?” 

“I’ve never heard anyone from Lucis talk about making an offer to anyone other than Bahamut – or these ladies offering to the Tidemother on their ceremony days.” He pointed out. 

She smiled. “I’m trialling the new Handmaid Immigration Initiative before they take it to referendum. Well, you’d be the first trial a guess?” She said with a grin. 

He laughed slightly. “I mean. I was a complicated case. But yeah. I guess?” 

“It’s been weird,” she said. “Not having a proper place to worship these last few weeks? You feel that right?” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “So, Ramuh next...?” 

  


“So, Handmaid Immigration Initiative, huh?” 

Ignis looked up from his place on the floor, supervising Lilium’s Tummy Time. “I’d be interested to know from whom you heard about that. Technically, it is a top secret initiative.” 

“Anyvna,” he answered. “The new one. Galahdian.” 

“Ah, yes,” he said, pushing up his spectacles. “It’s something Prince Noctis suggested, actually,” he answered. “With the truce with the empire, it’s the opportunity to – introduce fresh blood, shall we say. It was surprisingly thorough in the research. He got the idea from a fishing magazine, of all things. Introducing a school of some kind of Altissian carp to the sound in order to boost the local population.” 

“But no Empties,” he said quietly. 

“Her highness is making headway towards discussions with the Imperial ambassador about trading research information. But they _want_ to rent us units, not information. But Lucis has strict ethical laws about genetic modification the council is not willing to compromise on.” 

“You let Cursus stay,” Prompto pointed out, taking the empty bottle away from Stella. “He’s modded like the rest of them. Faster than the rest, I’d guess.” 

“Well, he’s not working as a Handmaid, and he has left Insomnia so... I have gently encouraged the council to turn a blind eye.” 

“Did you flutter your lashes?” He joked, smiling. 

“Such an accusation. I’m the apple of their eye.” 

Prompto snickered and stood up carefully, balancing Stella on his hip. “Come on, my little star. You need your nap.” 

“No!” she protested loudly. “No nap!” 

“Yes, nap,” he laughed. “My brightest star, you might still be a princess but you still have to do what you’re told.” 

She gave a very familiar sort of huff that gusted the tips of her fringe out of her eyes. “Yes you _are_ Noct’s daughter indeed.” He laid her down in the other room where it was darker. He turned on the tinkling mobile and headed back out to take Lilium of his father’s hands. 

“I ought to get back to the office,” Ignis said, getting off carpet and handing over their boy. He folded his cuffs back down and straightened his suit into impeccable order. “Gladiolus will collect him at end of business hours.” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “By the way... who do I talk to about the temples?” 

“The temples?” Ignis echoed, folding his collar down over his jacket. “What about them?” 

“Repairs, sculptors, stone masons, maybe a priest in residence before the end of the year? A temple’s never _really_ cared for if there’s no priest.” 

“Hm.” Ignis readjusted his tie. “I’m not certain. I’ll check with my uncle, but I believe the Ministry of Religion was absorbed into Cultural Affairs in King Mors’s time.” He watched him carefully. “You are quite serious about the restoration of the Hexatheon, aren’t you Prompto?” 

“Yeah, very,” he replied. “Whatever the Scourge is, Lucis isn’t helping itself by neglecting the Astrals.” 

Ignis watched him curiously. “I’ll make my enquiries and let you know.” He leaned down to kiss the mousy head of their son. “Have a good afternoon, both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy these chapters are hard to get out. Only one or two left, I think!


	55. Chapter Forty-Two

When Prompto steps back inside the door, he nearly trips over the stack of books that are just inside the door. He can spot a piece of paper once it’s closed - a crudely drawn book and some scribble that has been translated by Nanny’s neat hand: Stella’s Library. The soft “Aw” escapes his lips, and he is careful not to disturb the careful piles as he heads into the house. “I’m home!” He calls. 

“Papa!” A voice replied. “You’re home!” 

He smiles and scoops his little girl up into his arms. “Good evening, Princess!” he greets, giving her forehead a gentle kiss. Her hair, black as the night sky, is in two braids at the side of her face. He picks one up to tickle against her nose. “Are you going to help me with dinner tonight?” He asked, carrying her back towards the living room. 

Her eyes are suspicious. “No carrots today?” 

He laughed at that. How had he ever thought she wasn’t Noct’s? “Carrots for me and your Mama, okay?”

She looks very serious as she considers it. As if she’s considering a very important petition from the council. “Okay. But none for me. Or Dad!”

He shook his head and set her down in front of her art table. “I have to go shower. Then we’ll cook, okay?”

She’s already ignoring him, taking up her crayons and going back to her colouring in. Almost all the colours stay inside the lines now. There’s something sad in his chest - his little girl is growing up so quickly!

Shaking off the thought, he goes into the bathroom. After scrubbing off in the shower, he stands at the sink to rub cream into his hands. As he caps the bottle, hands wrap around his torso and lips press against his neck. “You’re home early.”

“Council Meeting is hung again. Ignis is one more straw away from calling a double dissolution and forcing a re-election.”

“Reggie regret naming him Lord-President of the Royal Council yet?” He asked, turning around and meeting familiar blue eyes. 

Noct smiles back at him. “Nope. He said meetings haven’t been this productive in decades. About time they got some young blood in, apparently.”

Prompto laughs and kisses him. “Let me get dressed. Stella and I are cooking dinner.”

By the time he comes out, Luna is at her desk - piles of important paperwork have been set aside in favour of the universally adored three year old on her knee. They seem to be locked in a very important discussion about _why_ and _why not_. Those are Stella’s new favourite questions. Not even Uncle Iggy can quench her thirst to _know_ everything. And boy has he tried. 

They’re at dinner, with her in a high chair that allows her to sit at the same table as them. Prompto is cutting her food into more manageable pieces when she pipes up: “Mama, are you a girl or a boy or other?”

“I’m a girl,” the future queen answers, with infinite grace and patience. 

“But you can’t make babies.”

“No,” she agreed calmly. “I can’t, like lots of women.”

“Will _I_ be able to make babies?” Stella asked.

Prompto shoots Noct a horrified look. He is _so not_ ready to have the sex talk with their daughter yet. 

Luna answers calmly. “Maybe. That is something the doctors will find out when you’re older, Stella. When you’re a woman.”

“Will I get a Handmaid? Like Aunt Iris?”

Stella was taking more interest in Handmaids and babies ever since Iris, on her eighteenth birthday, was found fertile and had pissed off Gladio by announcing she was going to take the Red. Instead of neatly continuing the Amicitia line of her own flesh and blood. Prompto suspects he might have a request coming his way soon enough - Clarus is aging, and he’s starting to think about securing the bloodline as well as their legacy. Not that he adores Lilium any less. 

“I suppose. If you want and need one.”

They’re allowed to eat their meal peacefully for a new record of two minutes while the little princess thinks this information over. Then she speaks up again: “Dad, are you a boy?”

“Uh-huh. Last I checked.” That gets him a kick under the table from his wife he dutifully ignores. 

“And you can’t make babies.”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Nanny said girls make babies. Boys don’t.” Stella said, her beautiful little face wrinkled up in concentration. 

“That’s mostly true,” Noct agrees carefully.

“But Papa is a boy. He makes babies. He made me in his belly!”

Oh. Right. She must’ve asked Nanny about that earlier. Here comes an awkward conversation. 

He sets down his fork, but it’s Noct who answers. “Your Papa is a very special sort of boy,” he explains carefully. “He wasn’t made in a belly like most people. He was born with science, and because of the way he was made he can have babies like a lady can.”

“Oh.” She chews on her potatoes for a moment. And then, abruptly changing the subject, she asks: “why is the sky Blue?”

  


Prompto slipped into the bed, curling up to Noct’s side. “Where’s Luna?” He murmured. 

“In with Stella. Apparently Lilium told her there’s a Voretooth hiding in her wardrobe.” 

Prompto snorted, pressing cold toes into his prince’s calves. “I doubt Lilium can even _say_ the word Voretooth.” 

“I’m going to have you _deported_ for _treason_ if you keep pressing your Shiva’s nipped toes against me!” Noct sulked. 

He laughed again and did nothing at all like moving his feet away. His prince made these threats every winter for the past three years, and yet here he was. 

Once they were warm, Noct turned to face him. “So, back at the Infernian’s Temple tomorrow?” He asked. 

“Mm. Nope,” Prompto replied. “The last of the engravings went in this afternoon. It’s complete.” 

“Have I told you how proud I am of you lately?” Noct’s voice rumbled at him, eyes warm with affection. “Handmaids are free, you know, to do as little as they like. Especially royal ones. But _you_ went ahead and decided to devote _years_ to prettying up some temples.” 

“It’s not just prettying it up Noct,” he huffed. “When the new Handmaids immigrate in, they’ll be wanting somewhere proper to worship. Especially the Altissians.” He skirted his fingers up the nobbly spine underneath black silk pyjamas. “And… the Handmaids like it. I know you don’t hold much stock in the Astrals, like the rest of the Insomniacs. But there have been twice as many pregnancies per year since we fixed up the Tidemother’s temple. She likes to bestow her favours, but only if you give her the proper respect.” 

Noct shook his head and lightly kissed him. “I believe, Prompto, even if I’m not exactly devout. Remind me to tell you, one day, about the Crystal and all that.” He turned them gently, so he was lying above Prompto. “But I have something different in mind now.” 

He chuckled and leaned up to kiss him deeply. He nudged his arm aside and slid open the drawer of the bedside table. “...damn.” 

“Damn?” Noct echoed. 

“No condoms,” he muttered, and flopped back down on the bed. “I forgot.” 

The prince hummed and leaned in to kiss him again. “No biggie,” he answered. “You can just top again. Like last night.” 

Prompto paused, his cheeks going a bit pink. “Or… you could.” 

Noct stopped and pulled up a bit, looking down at him. His eyes were wide, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are… are you sure, Prom? We haven’t talked about it.” 

He stroked his fingers down Noct’s arms. “Lilium’s walking now. Stella is getting older by the second. It’s been just long enough I miss having a baby in my arms.” 

Noct smiled and gave him a tender kiss. “Alright then. Let’s get started then.” 

  


He was dreaming again. Of the dark, endless room with the tall black marble columns. An ethereal song teasing at his ears. The dream was familiar, but he couldn’t pick why. “Prompto… my dear Prompto.” 

He turned. He knew the dark-haired woman standing by the strange crystal. _Gentiana_. She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she offered a hand out to him, beckoned him closer. 

“We’re so grateful, Prompto,” she said, in her strange accent. “It is time. You are ready to come to us. Fulfil your calling.” 

He was confused, but went obediently. One hand reached out to hers, to her patient, guiding smile. But then something painful hooked into his wrist and _yanked_ forward. 

He cried out in familiar fear, confusion, panic. Sleepwalking again. Something had woken him up. The pain around his wrist continued to drag him forward, until he felt something warm and hard against his fingers and the palm of his hand. “H-huh? Ow!” Pain sliced up his hand - heat and freezing cold and static electric. 

“Didn’t you hear them, Prompto?” A familiar, taunting voice sneered in his ear. “It’s your calling.” 

He twisted around and looked up at Ardyn Izunia’s face. Except it looked _horrible_ \- all black ick dribbling out of his eyes and the corner of his mouth. “Wh-what?” He asked weakly. 

Lips turned up, showing wickedly sharp teeth dripping with black. He recited a poem, one Prompto had heard just once before and could never forget: 

“The Vessel of the King of Light;  
Born in Winter’s Star alight.  
Golden-haired, Scourge unridden;  
Devout of faith, unborn of woman.  
Rebuild the bridge Solheim hath burned,  
The Scourge shalt be banished, the Light returned.”

“M-me?” He asked, panicked. He tried to pull his hand away, but somehow it was sinking into the crystal. The crystal of Eos, previously a smooth black surface, there was a crack forming his hand was slipping through. Inside it was glowing with purplish crystals, like a geode. 

Ardyn snickered, but continued on with extra lines he hadn’t heard from Iggy. 

“The King of Light his loss will mourn,  
Inside the dark, bring forth The Dawn.  
A price be paid, a heavy tithe:  
Unto the Astrals, one...precious...life.”

“W-what?” He struggled, trying to yank his arm out even as more and more sunk into the gaping fissure. “Let me go!” 

Ardyn stepped back, holding his arms out to the side and sweeping his coat open. “I may have walked this world for a whole millennia, Prompto. But I _will_ be damned before I let myself go without causing the line of my treacherous younger brother one last blow.” 

He planted one foot on Prompto’s back and kicked him forward. His arm disappeared into the fissure up to the shoulder. 

He cried out, twisting to try and escape. From the side of his eye he saw the door burst open. Gladio entered first, Noct close at his heels, Ignis behind him. Luna next, hair a mess around the hastily-tied dressing gown. 

The echoing voice of Noctis shouting his name was the last thing he heard, their horrified faces disappearing into blackness as he was pulled deep inside the crystal.


	56. Chapter Forty-Two-And-A-Half

The crown was heavy. In every way imaginable. He’d never wanted to be king, not one day in his life. 

Her Majesty, Queen Regent Lunafreya Flauret Lucis Caelum, Duchess of Ulwaat, Lady Tennebrae, had been coronated tonight. And Nocis was King. At least he hadn’t lost his father as well. Not quite yet. 

Eighteen months. Five hundred and forty eight days. The sun hadn’t risen once. Prompto was gone. Swallowed up by the crystal of legend. And all the light went with him. 

Stella had grown quiet and serious. She kept asking why the sky was dark, where her Papa had gone. She’d be five soon. He _missed_ Prompto, even still he rolled over at night to reach for him. Everything felt like it was falling apart.

His father was alive. But bedridden - every ounce of his energy devoted to maintaining The Wall. Trying to keep Insomnia and her people alive against the endless hoard of daemons. 

Clarus pushed the wheelchair former king, now known as Prince-Abdicant Regis the Thirteenth King of Lucis. 

“Father,” he said quietly. “You should rest. We can do this later.” 

“No, my son. Walk tall.” His voice was weak, but determined. “It is time.” 

Noct tensed as they realised what door they were approaching. He came to a stop. “No, I can’t…” 

“It is time,” his father repeated, firm. “There are things I have kept from you. But it is time to bring it all to light.” The doors opened upon the Crystal Chamber and Noct felt every muscle he had tensing as they stepped in. 

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Luna about this?” He asked. “She’s the one doing the actual queen things.” 

“No. This is something for you, as the blood heir of the Lucii.” Clarus parked the wheelchair below the crystal’s dais, and then hurried out to give them privacy. “When you were six years old I presented you to the crystal. By the grace of the Astrals, you were anointed.” 

“A-what now? Anointed as what?” He asked, something panicky building in his stomach. 

“As the Chosen One, who would become the King of Light.” His father’s voice was heavy with solemnity. Noct couldn’t even begin to think this might be a joke. 

“Then is Luna…?” Was she not _safe_. 

“Golden haired, pure of heart, devout, born under Shiva’s star,” the former king listed. 

“We have to send her away!” he said anxiously. “She could be in danger-” 

Regis held up a hand to silence him. “And the last caveat that has frustrated the kings of our line for hundreds of years, particularly when we were less enlightened. ‘ _Not born of a woman_. Since you were chosen I’ve scoured the kingdom for any fertile trans men in the hopes he might have a golden haired child. And then the Emperor of Niflheim gave you an unborn blond. I hoped… but I knew it was true when I caught him here, sleepwalking, bewitched by the crystal.” 

“ _Prompto_?” He asked, his stomach twisting up in a painful clench. “That’s why the crystal took him!” He whirled on it, his face twitching with fury. “That’s why the sun is gone!” 

“Yes,” his father agreed. “To bring forth the dawn, a life must be paid. I am sorry, my dear son. If I could have borne your burdens, I would have.” Noct turned back to him. His father heaved a great sigh and painfully eased the Ring of the Lucii off his swollen fingers. “It is time, Noct. The burden of the Crystal must become yours. We have dwelled in darkness too long. Release the dawn.” 

He took the ring. It was heavier than he thought - almost has heavy as the crown on his head though it was much, much smaller. He raised it, and his other hand. It was difficult to push onto his finger, like trying to force two magnets together. But eventually he managed to force it down past his knuckle, crying out in pain as a thousand years of kings passed their power into him. It felt like knives, and electricity, and fire, and ice - all plunging into every inch of his skin. 

When he was aware of himself again, he was slumped on his hands and knees. His father was knelt on the ground beside him, one hand rubbing circles in his back. He could _feel_ the Wall - his lifeforce seeping out of him and into the dome as daemons threw themselves at it to try and find a weak point. 

“Walk tall, my son,” Regis said, carefully helping Noct to his feet. “You must face your destiny as the King of Light. A thousand years to this very day besieged by the Scourge. It is time.” 

He had always been tired. From a baby who loved Naptime more than anything; to a permanently scarred child who needed rest and recovery; to a chronically depressed teenager whose only respite was sleep; to an adult with too much burden he didn’t have the energy to handle. But this was a new kind of exhaustion. Draining. He could almost _feel_ himself aging. 

He raised one hand, the one with the ring, and held it out towards the crystal. Light filtered out of the ring and into the crystal. There was a high-pitched ringing, almost musical, and the bluish light began to filter out almost like fog. 

It began to split down the middle, gaping open. Like the fissure that had swallowed Prompto a year and a half ago. Purple crystals peeked out, like a geode. It grew too bright and he winced, closing his eyes. 

For a long minute, there was only the crystalline singing, and his own harsh breathing. And then the strangest sound. The happy gurgle that could only belong to a newborn baby. He threw his eyes open in disbelief. 

Perched uncomfortably amongst the points inside the crystal was someone he never thought he’d see again. Prompto, looking thin and exhausted, lightly rocked the nude newborn in his arms. 

“Prompto…?” He asked, hardly daring to hope. He’d had this dream before - but the baby was new. 

His eyes wandered down to the newborn. She was small, could only be days old at most - and there were tufts of sunny blond hair sticking up around her head. 

“Is… is that a baby?” 

He gave a teary smile. “Her name is Aurora.”


	57. Final Chapter

Aurora was an unnaturally calm baby. Though Prompto couldn’t exactly say he was surprised, given she was the creation of the Astrals themselves. Goldenhaired, with freckled skin and eyes the colour of the bluest sky imaginable. She was the dawn itself, Eos reborn. Aurora, named for the dawn and one of the earlier queens of Lucis. 

He loved her. But she was no replacement for what he _lost_. A dark-haired boy who cried as the Tidemother carried him away into the endless light of the world inside the Crystal. Every day he lit a candle for Vitas - the _life_ the gods had demanded for the price of the return of light. 

Noct and Luna were understanding at least, and grieved for their lost child too. But they were the Majesties now. The monarchs. Queen Lunafreya was busy running the castle, and King Noct frequently rode out with Gladio and Ignis to supervise the rebuilding of the ravaged lands beyond the wall. They didn’t have _time_ to support him as often as he wanted it. 

Instead, he spent a lot of time with the Astrals’ Devotees - Handmaids and wives and servants and a very small number of men too. Ignis joked that they were Prompto’s Devotees, not the Astrals’. Sometimes he thought it might be more true than he gave credit for. 

His time with them meant the news came to him quickly, before word spread outside their collection. It was a servant first - then two of the wives - many of the Handmaids at once. Within a matter of months, more women were found pregnant than there had been in the past two years. Women who were previously declared infertile. 

“It is proven, then,” Queen Lunafreya said, looking down the stairs at him from atop the throne. “The Scourge has been banished. Life and Light has returned to Eos.” She bowed her head and murmured a prayer of thanks. 

“...what does this mean for the Handmaids?” Prompto asked quietly. 

Her eyes were sad as she watched him. “That’s a question that will have to be discussed amongst the royal council,” she replied - her voice was gentle, but filled every corner of the room. She really was magnificent at this. “At this current time, all Handmaids are to continue under the usual guidelines.” 

So they were to all wait, in limbo, while some politicians talked it out. The Handmaids were afraid - they came to him begging for news, desperate for him to intervene, to bring their concerns to his wife and husband. What would happen to them if the Handmaid Program was abolished? Would the Lucians have their passes into Insomnia revoked? Would the ones from the Immigration Initiative be deported now that they weren’t useful? What if the couples they lived with didn’t want them around any more? Would they lose the rights to see the children they’d already had? Would the families not _want_ the kids any more if they could have their own children? 

With Iggy’s advice, he had all their suggestions for going forward written down, and then had all of the Handmaids sign it. Then he presented it - officially and everything - to Lord-President Scientia in the morning council meeting. 

The Handmaid Program was ended. There would be no new Handmaids, no more expected monthly Ceremonies. But those established Handmaids would remain under the current regulations and protections. No one was to be thrown out of their house, or made to stay. And anyone who had been brought into the city would not be forced out. 

As for the exact nature of their roles in the households, well… that was up to the houses themselves. 

Prompto still lived in an awkward sort of limbo. Noct and Luna were too busy to find time for a proper conversation with him. Anytime they sat down together was probably dinner, once a week, and he wasn’t going to bring it up with Stella at the table with them. 

He underestimated the strength of her mind. _She_ was the one who brought it up. At dinner, as she pushed _peas_ out of her peas-and-corn pile. Prompto mentally added peas to the list of vegetables she hated - carrots and beans and celery and now peas. Potatoes were still safe. If Noct was any indication, they always would be even if he had to fry them if necessary. 

“Papa,” Stella said, tilting her head at him like a bird on a branch. “Are you going to leave the Citadel” 

He gaped at her, but it was Noct who answered first: “Where’d you get an idea like that, Stella?” 

“I thought Papa might be like Anyvna. Mr Nyx asked her to leave so she’s going to become a Junior Priestess at the Ramuh Temple.” 

Prompto was still surprised at how _sharp_ she was. He was floored by it, a moment longer. A moment too long. 

Noct answered again: “Of course not, Stella. We love your Papa as much as we love each other. We wouldn’t ask him to go for anything.” 

Something anxious in his chest eased at the sound of it. Because he _had_ doubted. He’d been waiting. For them to quietly sit him down and tell them that there was too much pressure from the nobles, from the council, from the _public_. That it just wasn’t _proper_ for a king and queen to have a third in their marriage. That they were fond enough of him, but not enough to face the scandal. 

He leaned over to kiss Stella on top of the head. “Eat your dinner, my little star. I’m not going anywhere.” He paused as the baby monitor on the table sparked to life with the gentle gurgles of Aurora’s waking. “Okay. I am. But only to the nursery.” 

Stella perked up. “Papa, can I warm up the bottle?” 

He smiled a little. She was excited by her little sister - a sister, first and foremost, but also a siblings that was all her own. She adored Lilium of course, but sulked frequently that she had to _share_ him with Uncle Iggy and Gladdy. 

“Finish your peas and I’ll think about it.” 

She whined. “I’m the crown _princess_ , you can’t make me!” 

He kissed her forehead and gave a little smile. “We’ll see.” 

When both Stella and Aurora were down and asleep, Prompto padded quietly down the hall to the royal bedroom. 

Traditionally Stella should have a nursery outside the royal apartments with a slew of nannies to cater to her every need and whim - and they would see her every other day or so in organized meetings to show off her _lessons_. It seemed she had put her foot down, because she wanted to be where Prompto was going to come back. And Noct was an indulgent father the likes the royal family had never seen, even compared to his own. 

She stayed in the royal apartments, in the bedroom next to the nursery that had belonged to Queen Lunafreya. Luna had moved into the room that had been his - after it had been redecorated to get rid of all the scarlet. When he’d come back out of the crystal, he’d been given the room back and she took to sharing with Noct in the royal bed. 

He knocked quietly on the door. After a moment, it creaked open. Luna smiled at him and opened it the rest of the way. “Come in, Prom.” 

He stepped in and Noct sat up, smiling. “Hey. Our girls down for the night?” 

He perched on the edge of the bed. “You know Aurora’s not yours, right?” He mumbled, tugging his hoodie closer. “I’m not entirely sure she’s mine, either. They took…” He swallowed against the tight grip in his throat. “They took Vitus away and then the next thing I know I’m pregnant again. All the tidemother has to do was lay hands on me.” 

Noct curled arms around him in a warm embrace, and he felt Luna’s hand rubbing circles on the small of his back. “I know she’s not mine by blood. But she’s family, as much as you are. So she’s ours, as much as Stella is.” He pulled back to give Prompto a smile. “Besides. You want to try telling Stella that she can’t have her sister?” 

He huffed a weak laugh and rested his head in the crook of Noct’s neck. “You’re really not going to send me away?” 

Noct’s shoulders tensed. “Do you _want_ to go? You’re free to, no matter how much we want you to stay.” 

He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to. I want to be here with all of you.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that I had to go. That it wasn’t going to work out, you being king and queen and all, to have a lover.” 

“You’re not our lover,” Luna said reassuringly, lying down on the bed beside them. “You are so much more than that. You have been a part of our marriage since the very beginning. All those months we have had to be without you… you cannot comprehend the depth of our pain.” 

“You know I can’t have children any more right?” He murmured to them. “The doctor told you that?” 

“We know,” Noct replied. “And we don’t care. You’re not a baby maker, Prompto. We _love you_.” 

He whimpered softly, against the bubble of joy that built up in his chest. “I love you too.” 

He found himself cuddled between them both in the bed. Years ago, when he was a scared Empty, feeling downtrodden and going out for his first assignment, he never thought he’d get to feel like this. Treasured, welcome, _loved_. At home, surrounded by family. 

He was almost afraid he’d wake up and it would all vanish. 

Noct kissed his cheek tenderly. “Go to sleep, Prompto. We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

And they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Empty’s Tale has now come to a close. Thank all of you who have come along with me on this journey. This would have been impossible without your support, your kudoses, your comments. Thank you so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear beloved readers,  
> Of course this fic has a very delicate and controversial source material, and therefore some themes will have carried over. Intentions or not, The Author Is Dead (heh, literary analysis references), the interpretations of the work are entirely in the minds of the _reader_. Therefore, it is not mine nor another reader's place to correct their interpretations, or their reasons for, reading this work. I am touched and humbled by people coming to my defense, but I must urge you all to be kind to one another - and respect other people's associations and life experiences.  
>  I would like to please request people do not respond to another's comment threads unless it's in agreement with their comments.  
> I was honestly saddened by the number of people who commented that they, too, were a survivor. A tragic reality, and I applaud you for being open about it. However, please note that your experiences may not be another's experiences, your progress through recovery may not be the same progress than others.  
> My main fault was failing not to appropriately tag for the worst interpretation as a forewarning to those who may be uncomfortable with that kind of content, and perhaps accidentally triggering people when they could have mediated their own consumption.  
> Thank you all for your comments and reassurances at this time. Please be kind to one another.


End file.
